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SACRED POEMS AND PIOUS 
EJACULATIONS BY HENRY 

VAUGHAN 

WITH A MEMOIR BY THE 

REV. H. F. LYTE 




Silex ScintillanS) &c. 

SACRED POEMS 

AND PIOUS 
EJACULA- 
TIONS 

BY 

HENRY VAUGHAN 



Job xxxv. 10, n. 

Where is God my Maker, who 
giveth Songs in the night ? 

Who teacheth us more than the 
beafts of the earth, and mak- 
eth us wifer than the fowls of 
heaven ? 



LONDON 
BELL AND DALDY 



gg ^w yy vvvv 



^ftp 




^ HE Publishers gladly avail themfelves 
of this opportunity to thank the per- 
fonal reprefentativesof the late Rev. 
H. F. Lyte for their kindnefs in 
allowing them to reprint the elegant Memoir of 
Henry Vaughan prefixed to the edition of his 
Sacred Poems and Pious Ejaculations^ publifhed 
in 1847. 

In preparing this new edition for publication, 
they have had as many of the poems as pof- 
fible verified and corrected by the original edi- 
tions ; and they beg to acknowledge their 
obligations to the Rev. W. T. Bullock and 
others, for much valuable afliftance in contri- 
buting to its accuracy. 




Contents. 

Page 

UTHORIS (de se) Emblema .... xii 
Biographical Sketch of Henry 

Vaughan xiii 

The Author's Preface 3 

Dedication 15 

SlLEX SCINTILLANS, OR SACRED PoEMS. PART I. 

Regeneration 21 

. Death. A Dialogue 24 

Refurreclion and Immortality 26 

Day of Judgement 28 

Religion ^ ...... . 30 

The Search 32 

Ifaac's Marriage 36 

The Brittifh Church . 38 

The Lampe 39 

Man's fall and Recovery 40 

The Showre 42 

Diftraclion 43 

The Purfuite 44 

Mount of Olives 45 

The Incarnation and Paflion 46 

The Call 47 

Early Death 48 

Vanity of Spirit 50 

The Retreate 51 

Abfence 52 

Midnight 53 

Content 55 

Stars 56 

The Storm 57 

The Morning- watch 58 

The Evening-watch 59 

Bereavement 60 

Church-Service 61 



viii CONTENTS. 

SlLEX SCINTILLANS. Page 

Buriall 62 

Chearfulnefs 64 

Diftance 65 

Peace 66 

The Paffion 66 

Rom. Cap. 8. ver. 19 68 

The Relapfe 70 

The Refolve 71 

The Match 72 

Rules and LeiTons 73 

Corruption 79 

Holy Scriptures 80 

Unprofitablenes 81 

Chrift's Nativity 81 

The Check 83 

Diforder and Frailty 85 

Idle Verfe 87 

Son-dayes 88 

Repentance 89 

The Burial of an Infant 92 

Faith 93 

The Dawning 94 

Admiffion 96 

Praife t 97 

Drefling 99 

Eafter-day 1 01 

Eafter Hymn 101 

The Holy Communion 102 

Pfalm 121 . . 104 

Affliction 105 

The Tempeft • . 106 

Retirement 108 

Love, and Difcipline no 

The Pilgrimage 111 

The Law and the Gofpel 112 

The World 114 

The Mutinie 116 

The Conftellation 118 

The Shepheards 120 

Mifery 122 

The Sap 125 

Mount of Olives 1 . . . 127 

Man 128 

The Hidden Flower 129 

Begging 132 



CONTENTS. ix 

SlLEX SCINTILLANS. PART II. Page 

Afcenfion-day 133 

Afcenfion-Hymn 135 

Departed Friends 136 

White Sunday 138 

The Proffer 140 

Cock-crowing 142 

The Starre 144 

The Palm-tree 145 

Joy 146 

The Favour 147 

The Garland 148 

Love-lick . z 149 

Trinity-Sunday 150 

Pfalme 104 151 

The Bird 154 

The Timber 155 

The Jews 158 

Begging 159 

Palm-Sunday 1 60 

Jefus weeping 162 

The Daughter of Herodias 163 

Jefus weeping 164 

Providence 166 

The Knot 168 

The Ornament 169 

St. Mary Magdalen 170 

The Rain-bow 172 

The Seed growing fecretly 174 

Time's Book 176 

Religion . 177 

The Stone 179 

The Dwelling-Place 181 

The Men of War 182 

TheAfs 184 

The Hidden Treafure 186 

Childe-hood 187 

The Night 189 

Abel's blood 191 

Righteoufnefs 192 

Anguifh 194 

Tears 195 

Jacob's Pillow and Pillar 196 

The Agreement 198 

The Day of Judgement 200 

Pfalm 65 202 

The Throne 203 



x CONTENTS. 

SlLEX SciNTILLANS. PART II. Page 

Death 204 

The Feaft . . , 205 

The Obfequies 208 

The Water-fall 209 

Quicknefs 211 

The Wreath 211 

The Queer 212 

The Book 213 

To the Holy Bible ■ 214 

L'Envoy 215 

Pious Thoughts and Ejaculations. 

To his Books 221 

Looking back 222 

The Shower 223 

Difcipline 223 

The Ecclipfe 224 

Affliction . 224 

Retirement 225 

The Revival 226 

The Day-fpring 226 

The Recovery 228 

The Nativity 229 

The true Chriftmas 230 

The Requeft 231 

The World 232 

The Bee 235 

To Chriftian Religion 239 

Daphnis 240 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

HENRT FAUGH AN 

THE SILURIST 

r 



Author is fdefej Emblema. 

Tent dfii, fateor, fine vulnere fapius, et me 

Confultum voluit Vox, fine voce, frequens ; 
Ambivit placido divinior aura meatu> 

Et fruftra fanclo murmur e pramonuit. 
S urdus eram, mutufque Silex : Tu> (quanta tuorum 

Cur a tibi eft !) alia das renovare via ; 
Permutas Curam : Jamque irritatus Amorem 

Pojfe negas, et vim, Vi, fuper 'are paras ; 
Accedis propior, molemque, et faxea rumpis 

Peftora, fit que Caro, quod fuit ante Lapis. 
En lacerum ! Ccelofque tuos ardentia tandem 

Fragmenta, et liquidas ex Adamante genas ! 
Sic olim undantes Petras, Scopulofque vomentes 

Curdfti, O populi providus ufque tui ! 
£>uam miranda tibi manus eft ! Moriendo, revixi y 

Et fradlas jam fum ditior inter opes. 



Biographical Sketch of 

Henry Vaughan, 

r 




gg^HE principal collections of the Bri- 
tifh poets were made at a time when 
the tafte for French corre&nefs was 
in the afcendant among us. This 
may in fome meafure account for the facl: that 
fo many fmooth Rhymfters, fuch as Pomfret, 
Yalden, Lanfdown, &c, have been placed on 
that auguft lift, while Lord Brooke, the Fletch- 
ers, Withers, Herrick, Habington, and Quarles, 
have been excluded from it ; and it is only when 
fome happy accident brings thefe writers and 
their productions under our notice, that we 
difcover how many of the true poets of England 
have been puflied from their places, to make 
room for mere pretenders to the title. In fome 
inftances it would almoft feem as if thefe writers 



xiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

had been ftudioufly run down by thofe, who 
dole from them firft, and then fought to con- 
fign them to obfcurity, in order to cover their 
own plagiarifms. From the days of Milton, 
however, down to thofe of Burns and Cowper, 
a very low ftandard of poetic excellence pre- 
vailed in this country, and a trifling offence 
againft good tafte, a flight ruggednefs in ftyle 
and compofition, were fufHcient to condemn a 
poet of no mean order to oblivion ; as if any 
correcStnefs of tafte or fmoothnefs of verification 
could atone for the a&ual dearth of originality. 
Among thofe who have experienced in a 
remarkable degree this unfair treatment is the 
Poet, a part of whofe works we propofe now 
to republifh. He is entirely unnoticed in the 
great collections of Bell, Anderfon, and Chal- 
mers ; and even Campbell, in his fpecimens of 
the Britifh poets, fpeaks in the moft flighting 
manner of his talents and productions. All this 
however is trifling in comparifon with the treat- 
ment he receives at the hand of his own County 
Hiftorian, Jones. This writer actually doubts 
whether Henry Vaughan ever produced any 
poetry whatever. He tells us that two little 
pieces of his, the Olor Ifcanus y and the Charnel 
Houfe^ were publifhed by Thomas Vaughan, 






OF HENRT V AUG HAN. xv 

in the name of his brother Henry ; but that 
they were generally believed to be Thomas 
Vaughan's own compofitions. So ignorantly 
and flippantly could the Hiftorian of Breck- 
nockfhire write refpe£ting one of its greateft 
literary ornaments, whofe works, now before 
us, amount to feven printed volumes. How 
far this depreciation was deferved, the poems 
preferved in the following pages will beft teftify ; 
but we are much deceived if many of them do 
not commend themfelves to all readers of true 
poetic tafte, as among the molt ftriking com- 
pofitions of their age. In this cafe a defire will 
naturally arife to know fomething refpecling 
the Author, and this curiofity the Editor here 
endeavours to gratify: and after carefully look- 
ing through the aforefaid volumes, and making 
what enquiries he could both at Oxford and in 
the neighbourhood where Vaughan lived and 
died, he offers in the following biographical 
fketch the refults of his refearches. It may be 
as well here further to obferve that Henry 
Vaughan the poet, muft not be confounded 
with another of the fame name, college, and 
neighbourhood, who wrote two little theological 
pieces* of fome merit. Though poffeffing fo 
many features in common, they were, as the 



xvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

records of Jefus College mow, totally different 
perfons. 

Henry Vaughan, ftyled by his contempo- 
raries "the Silurift," from his having been born 
among the Silures, or people of South Wales, 
was defcended from one of the moft ancient 
and refpecTiable families of the Principality, de- 
ducing its pedigree from the ancient kings of 
that country. Two of his anceftors, Sir Roger 
Vaughan and Sir David Gam, loft their lives 
at the battle of Agincourt. His great grand- 
mother was Lady Frances Somerfet, daughter 
of Thomas Somerfet, third fon of Henry Earl 
of Worcefter,and the poiTeffions of the Vaughan 
family were very extenfive both in Brecknock- 
mire and in other parts of Wales. The chief 
family refidence was the caftle of Tretower, in 
the parifh of Cwmdu, and, when it was dis- 
mantled, Skethrock, or Scethrog, in the fame 
neighbourhood. At this latter place Shake- 
fpeare is faid to have paid a vifit to one of the 
family, and his commentator, Malone, thinks 
that it was perhaps there that he picked up the 
word " Puck," refpecT:ing the origin of which 
fome of his critics have been much puzzled. 
Pooky in Welfh fignifies a goblin, and near 
Scethrog exifts a valley, Cwm-Pooky, the gob- 






OF HENRY V AUG HAN. xvii 

lin's vale, v/hich belonged to the Vaughans, 
and which a tradition, ftill extant, ftates to have 
been a favorite refort of fome diftinguifhed 
" Bard," who had once vifited that neighbour- 
hood. The grandfather of the poet appears to 
have migrated from Tretower to Newton, in 
the parifh of Llanfaintfread, about five miles 
diftant from the family refidence ; and there 
his fon Henry, in the year 1621, had iffue 
Henry and Thomas Vaughan, twin brothers, 
the former of them the fubjecl: of the prefent 
memoir. Newton, once a comfortable man- 
fion, is now a farm-houfe near the Ufk, on the 
road leading from Crickhowel to Brecon, and 
diftant about five miles from the latter place. 
Henry Vaughan ftyles it himfelf, in the date 
affixed to one of his dedications, " Newton by 
Ufke, near Sketh-rock." The fituation is a 
very beautiful one, well calculated to nurfe 
poetic thought and feeling ; and there is abun- 
dant evidence in Vaughan's works, to mow that 
it was not unappreciated by its poetic occupant. 
There are fome very fweet Latin verfes in one 
of his early volumes, addreffed to the Ufk, and 
the following lines occur in one of his Englifh 
apoftrophies to the fame river : — 

" Garlands and longs and roundelayes, 
Mild dewie nights, and funfhine dayes, 

b 



xviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

The turtle's voyce, joy without fear, 
Dwell on thy bofome all the year ! 
******* 
The fa&our-wind from far fhall bring 
The odours of the fcattered fpring, 
And loaden with the rich arreare 
Spend it in fpicie whifpers here." 

Olor Ifc. p. 2. 

At the age of eleven years Henry Vaughan 
and his brother were fent for education to the 
Rev. Matthew Herbert, Rector of Llangattock, 
under whofe tuition they continued during the 
enfuing fix years. Here they feem to have 
made confiderable progrefs in claflical literature, 
and to have imbibed a ftrong affection for their 
tutor, as well as a lively fenfe of their obliga- 
tions toward him. They have both left behind 
them elegant and affectionate tributes, in Latin 
Elegiacs, to their old preceptor, and the graceful 
claflicality of thefe compofitions proves how 
well their praifes were deferved. 

From Llangattock the brothers in due time 
moved on to Oxford, and entered at Jefus 
College in the year 1638. They were then 
between 17 and 18 years of age, and well 
qualified for engaging in the ftudies of the 
Univerfity. They had fallen however on times 
unpropitious to literary purfuits. The great 
rebellion was now fermenting, and politics 



OF HENRY V AUG HAN. xix 

feemed to pufh everything elfe into the back 
ground. The king too by and by moved his 
Court from London to Oxford, where he had 
the fympathy and fupport of almoft all the 
members of the Univerfity. It was fcarcely to 
be expected that two young and ardent fpirits, 
like thofe of the Vaughans, would be indifferent 
to the Royal caufe. They were fprung from a 
family diftinguimed for its loyalty ; and Wales 
throughout the Civil War was always favorable 
to Charles : accordingly we find them both 
zealous royalifts. Thomas Vaughan actually 
bore arms on the King's fide, and Henry fuf- 
fered obloquy and imprifonment for his known 
and avowed attachment to his Royal mafter. 
This latter fact appears from a poem of his 
addreffed to his " learned friend and loyal fellow 
prifoner^ Thomas Powell, D.D." Whether he 
ever actually took the field on the King's fide 
may be a matter of doubt. He fpeaks in a 
poem of his, of having been cc torn from the 
fide" of a dear young friend, R. W., in the 
battle of Rowton Heath, near Chefter, 1645 > 
and there are other paffages in his works which 
feem to intimate that he had been engaged in 
actual conflict with the enemy. However, on 
the other hand, a Latin poem of his, written in 



xx BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

1647, expreffly afferts that he had then nothing 
to do with open warfare. He confidered, he 
tells us, that there was a voice in a brother's 
blood, which would cry to Heaven againft the 
fhedder of it, and therefore he confcientioufly 
abftained from meeting in the field his infatuated 
countrymen, though not from the advocacy of 
his Sovereign's caufe by every means which he 
deemed legitimate. His brother Thomas how- 
ever had none of thefe fcruples \ and as his 
Hiftory is rather a Angular one, it may as well 
be here purfued to its clofe. Obtaining ordi- 
nation from Bifhop Mainwaring, he was pre- 
fented by a diftant relation to the living of 
Llanfaintfread, the place of his birth, and went 
to refide there, clofe to his brother Henry. 
The Parliamentary Ecclefiaftical Commiflloners 
foon afterwards commenced their inquifitorial 
vifitations, and Thomas Vaughan was expelled 
by them from his living, on the ufual charges 
of drunkennefs, fwearing, incontinency, and 
having borne arms for the King^ the latter pro- 
bably being, as in many other inftances, his 
only real offence. On this event he retired to 
Oxford, and devoted the reft of his life to 
Chemiftry, or rather Alchemy, under the auf- 
pices of Sir Robert Murray, Secretary of State 






OF HENRT V AUG HAN. xxi 

for Scotland, himfelf a great admirer of thefe 
ftudies. While in his fervice Thomas Vaughan 
publifhed feveral works in verfe and profe under 
the name of Eugenius Philalethes. The titles 
of fome of thefe are very whimfical and amufing. 
There is firfl: " Anima magica abfcondita, or a 
dlfcourfe of the Univerfal Spirit of Nature, with 
the fir an ge, abjlrufe, and miraculous afcent and 
defcent. — London, 1 65 0." " AnthropofophiaThe- 
omagica, or a difcourfe of the Nature of 'Man , and 
his ftate after death, grounded on his Creator's 
proto-chemijlry. — London, 1650." " Magia 
Adamica, or the Antiquity of Magic, and the defcent 
thereof from Adam downward, proved; together 
with a per feci; and full difcovery of the true Cae- 
lum terra, or the Magician's Heavenly Chaos, 
and firfl matter of all things. — London, 1650." 
The laft that we (hall mention is, " Euphrates, 
or the waters of the Eafi; being a Jhort difcourfe 
of that fecret fountain, whofe water flows from 
fire, and carries in it the beams of the fun and 
moon; London, 1653." In the year 1665, on 
the Plague breaking out in London, the Court 
of Charles II. removed to Oxford, and Thomas 
Vaughan and his patron accompanied it. A 
few days afterwards however, he was taken ill, 
and, retiring to Albury, in the neighbourhood, 



xxii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

he died there, Feb. 27th, 1665. Anthony 
Wood fums up his character by faying, " He 
was a great Chymift, a noted lover of the fire, 
an experimental Philofopher, a zealous brother 
of the Roficrucian fraternity, an underftander 
of fome of the Oriental languages, and a toler- 
able good Englifh and Latin Poet. He was 
neither Papift nor Sectary, but a true refolute 
Proteftant, in the beft fenfe of the Church of 
England." The two brothers feem to have 
been always ftrongly attached to each other. 
Thomas had the higheft admiration of his bro- 
ther's poetical powers, and ufhered in his early 
works with ftrong prefatorial commendations ; 
and Henry pathetically laments his more ec- 
centric brother's untimely death, in the verfes 
entitled " Daphnis" printed at the end of this 
volume. 

It was during this period of Henry Vaughan's 
life that his earlieft verfes were produced. He 
was intimate with moft of the young literary 
men of the day, and his occafional effufions 
appear to have been highly prized and long re- 
membered among them. He fpeaks with much 
delight of his occafional vifits to London at this 
time, and of the focial evenings fpent there at 
the Globe Tavern. He mentions Randolph as 



OF HENRT FAUGHAN. xxiii 

one whom he fpecially delighted in. He flung 
his poetic tribute, along with fo many others, 
on Cartwright's premature hearfe. Fletcher's 
plays, publifhed in 1647, came out with com- 
mendatory verfes of his prefixed to them. And 
Ben Jonfon, " great Ben," feems to have been 
an obje£t of his peculiar admiration. At this 
period alfo his own firft publication was given 
to the world, a little volume of verfes, chiefly 
amatory, addrefTed to Amoret, in the light eafy 
ftyle of the day, and clofing with a tranflation 
— not a clofe one — of the 10th fatire of Juvenal. 
Some of thefe poems exhibit a good deal of 
vigour and freedom in their verification. The 
following is a favourable fpecimen : 

" But grant fome richer planet at my birth 
Had fpied me out, and meafured fo much earth 
Or gold unto my fhare, I mould have been 
Slave to thefe lower elements, and feen 
My high-born foul flagge with their drofle, and lye 
A prifoner to bafe mud and alchemic 
I mould perhaps eate orphans, and fucke up 
A dozen diftreft widowes in one cup. 
******* 

Thanks then for this deliverance, BlefTed Powers ! 
You that difpenfe man's fortune and his houres ! 
How am I to you all engaged, that thus 
By fuch ftrange meanes, almoft miraculous, 
You mould preferve me ? you have gone the way 
To make me rich by taking all away. 
For I, had I been rich, as fure as fate, 



xxiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

Would have been meddling with the king or ftate, 

Or fomething to undoe me ; and 'tis fit, 

We know, that who hath wealth mould have no wit. 

But above all thanks to that Providence, 

That armed me with a gallant foule and fenfe 

'Gainft all misfortunes, that hath breathed fo much 

Of Heaven into me, that I fcorn the touch 

Of thefe low things, and can with courage dare 

Whatever fate or malice can prepare. 

I envy no man's purfe or mines. I know 

That lofing them I've loft their curfes too."" 

The little volume from whence thefe lines 
are taken is entitled, " Poems^ with the tenth 
S a tyre of Juvenal Englijhed^ by Henry Vaughan, 
Gent. London, 1646." 

It became, however, now neceflary that Henry 
Vaughan mould turn his attention to fome pro- 
feffion for a livelihood. Whatever patrimony 
may have defcended to him by inheritance, it 
appears to have been inadequate to his fupport. 
Befides, he was a Poet, one of that race of 
whom he playfully fays himfelf, 

" Thou fhalt not find a rich one. Take each clime, 
And run o'er all the pilgrimage of time, 
Thou'lt meet them poor, and everywhere defcrie 
A threadbare, gold-lefs genealogies 

That this lot was not indeed a very diftreffing 
one to him, we may conjecture from a paflage 
already quoted, as well as from other fine lines 
of his, in which, addreffing Fortune, he fays, 






OF HENRT V AUG HAN. xxv 

" I care not for your wondrous hat and purfe ! 
The world's my palace. I'll contemplate there 5 
And make my progrefs into every fphere. 
The chambers of the aire are mine, thofe three 
Well furnifhed (lories my pofTeflion be. 
I hold them all in capite, and ftand 
Propt by my fancy there. I fcorn your land, 
It lies fo far below me. Here I fee 
How all the facred liars do circle me." 

Then, after cafting off all the groffer parts of 
nature, he proceeds, 

" Get up, my difentangled foul ! thy fire 

Is now refined, and nothing left to tire 

Or clog thy wings. Now my aufpicious flight 

Hath brought me to the Empyrean light. 

I am a feparate efience, and can fee 

The emanations of the Deitie. 

And how they pafs the feraphims, and run 

Through every throne and domination. 

With angels now and fpirits do I dwell 5 

And here it is my nature to do well. 

And fhall I then forfake the itars and figns, 

To dote upon thy dark and curfed mines ?" 

All this however, though fine in the way of 
poetic fpeculation, would not do for every day 
practice. Accordingly Henry Vaughan, having 
no tafte for the Church, (indeed there was not 
much to attract him thither in fuch times) 
turned his attention to medical purfuits, and 
leaving Oxford, without graduating there, he 
went to London, and in due time became M.D., 



xxvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

and retired to praftife at Brecknock (now 
Brecon) the county town, a few miles diftant 
from his native place. He found things greatly- 
changed there under the republican regime, and 
not very congenial, it would feem, to his own 
feelings. 

" Here's brotherly Ruffs and Beards, and a ftrange fight 
Of high monumental Hats, tane at the fight 
Of eighty eight ; while every BurgefTe foots 
The mortal Pavement in eternall boots.'" 

We find him accordingly foon migrating 
from thence to his native refidence, Newton, 
where he continued to purfue his profeffion, 
and to employ his leifure hours in various lite- 
rary occupations. 

About this time it was that he prepared for 
the prefs his little volume entitled " Olor Ifca- 
nus" * the fwan of the Ufk, the dedication of 
which to Kildare, Lord Digby, bears date De- 
cember 17, 1647. This volume however he 
never himfelf publifhed. It appears to have 
been configned to the hands of his brother, 
when he returned to Oxford on his ejection 
from the living of Llanfaintfread, and in 1651, 

* Olor Iscanus. A Collection of fome feleft 
Poems, and Tranflations. Formerly Written by Mr. 
Henry Vaughan, Silurift. Publifhed by a Friend. Lon- 
don : Printed by P. W. for Humphrey Mofeley, 1651. 






OF HENRT V AUG HAN. xxvii 

three years afterwards, it was printed by him, 
with an apologetic advertifement, and com- 
mendatory verfes from himfelf and other Oxford 
friends. Thomas Vaughan, in his addrefs to 
the Reader, expreffly fays, " I have not the 
Author's approbation to the fact," (viz. of 
publication) " but I have Law on my fide," 
(as) "I hold it no man's prerogative to fire his 
own houfe." It would appear therefore that 
Henry Vaughan wiflied to have deftroyed thefe 
ebullitions of his youthful mufe, as he had many 
others of the fame kind, and that they were in 
the end publimed contrary to his defire. Yet 
there is really nothing objectionable in the 
volume. The poems contained in it are not 
of a ftriclly religious character ; yet they are 
full of juft and noble fentiments ; and I am not 
aware of a line that any one need have been 
afhamed of. The volume, when complete, 
has a curious frontifpiece, engraved by Robert 
Vaughan (qu. a relation ?) with the fwan of the 
Ufk very confpicuous in the centre of it, and 
the following Latin verfes before it : — 

AD POSTEROS. 

Diminuat ne fera dies praefentis honorem, 

Quis qualifq fui percipe, Pofteritas. 

CAMBRIA me genuit, patulis ubi vallibus errans 



xxviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

Subjacet aeriis montibus ISC A pater. 

Inde finu placido fufcepit maximus arte 

HERBERTUS, Latiae gloria prima Scholae. 

Bis ternos, illo me Conducente per annos 

Profeci, & geminam Contulit u?ius opem 

Ars & amor, mens atq manus certare folebant, 

Nee lajfata Illi menfve, manufvey«/7. 

Hinc qualem cernis crenjijfe : Sed ut mea certus 

Tempora eognofcas, dura fuere,fcias. 

Fixi, divifos cum fregerat haerefis Anglos 

Inter Tyfiphonas prejbyteri & populi. 

His primum miferis per zmoenafurentibus arva 

Proftravit fanclam e vilis a<vena rofam, 

Turbdrunt fontes, & fujis -pax per it undis, 

Mceftaq Coeleftes obruit umbra dies. 

Duret ut Integritas tamen, & pia gloria, partem 

Me nullam in tantd RYagefuiJ[e,fcias$ 

Credidimus nempe infonti vocem ejfe Cruori, 

Et vires quae poft funera flere docent. 

Hinc caftae, fidaeq, pati me more parentis 

Commonui, & Lachrymis fata lenjare meis ; 

Hinc nufquam horrendis viola^i Sacra procellis, 

Nee mihi mens unquam, nee manus atrafuit. 

Si pius e s, ne plura pet as ,• Satur Ille recedat 

Qui fapit, & nos non fcripfimus Infipidis.— 

giving in enigmatical language, a flight fketch 
of the Author's life and opinions. The matter 
confifts of original poems, many of them ad- 
drefled to perfons of die Author's acquaintance, 
together with translations from Ovid's Trijiia, 
Boethius, and Cafimir, and a brief fpecimen or 
two will fuffice to fhow that they are not without 
their beauties. 






OF HENRT FAUGHAN. xxix 

In an Epithalamium occur thefe lines, 

" Frefh as the houres may all your pleafures be, 
And healthfull as Eternitie ! 
Sweet as the flowre's firft breath, and clofe 
As th' unfeen fpreadings of the Rofe, 
When he unfolds his curtained head, 
And makes his bofome the Sun's bed." 

Olor Ifc. p. 22, 

Of the Lady Elizabeth, daughter of James I., 
he fays, 

" Thou feem'ft a rofe-bud born in fnow, 

A flowre of purpofe fprung to bow 

To heedlefs tempefts, and the rage 

Of an incenfed ftormie age. 

* * * * * * 

And yet as Balm-trees gently fpend 

Their tears for thofe that doe them rend, 

Thou didft nor murmure nor revile, 

But drank' ft thy wormwood with a lmile." 

Olor Ifc. p. 30. 

In a different ftrain he thus concludes an in- 
vitation to a friend to Brecknock. 

" Come then ! and while the flow isicle hangs 
At the Itiffe thatch, and Winter's frofty pangs 
Benumme the year, blith (as of old) let us 
'Mid noife and war, of peace and mirth difcufTe. 
This portion thou wert born for. Why mould we 
Vex at the time's ridiculous miferie ? 
An age that thus hath fooled itfelfe, and will, 
(Spite of thy teeth and mine,) perfift fo ftill. 
Let's fit then at this fire ; and, while wee fteal 
A revell in the Town, let others feal, 



xxx BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

Purchafe, or cheat, and who can let them pay, 
Till thofe black deeds bring on the darkfome day. 
Innocent fpenders wee ! a better ufe 
Shall wear out our fhort leafe, and leave th' obtufe 
Rout to their hulks. They and their bags at beft 
Have cares in earneft. Wee care for a jeft ! " 

Olor Ifc. p. ii. 

Another poem, addreffed " To his learned 
friend Mr. T. Powell, upon bis Tranjlation of 
Malvezzi's Chriftian Politician" thus ends : 

" Come then, rare politicians of the time, 
Brains of fome Handing, Elders in our clime, 
See here the method. A wife folid ftate 
Is quick in acting, friendly in debate, 
Joynt in advice, in refolutions juft, 
Mild in fucceffe, true to the Common truft. 
It cements ruptures, and by gentle hand 
Allayes the heat and burnings of a land. 
Religion guides it ; and in all the tract 
Defignes fo twill, that Heaven confirms the a&. 
If from thefe lifts you wander, as you fteere, 
Look back, and catechife your aclions here. 
Thefe are the marks to which true ftatefmen tend, 
And greatnefs here with goodnefs hath one end." 

Olor. Ifc. p. 26. 

We can only afford room for one fpecimen 
of the translations. 



BOETHIUS, METRUM 4. 

" Whofe calme foule in a fettled ftate 
Kicks under foot the frowns of fate, 
And in his fortunes bad or good 
Keeps the fame temper in his bloud $ 






OF HENRT FAUGHAN. xxxi 

Not him the flaming clouds above, 
Nor Etna's fierie tempefts, move. 
No fretting feas from fhore to more, 
Boyling with indignation o'er, 
Nor burning thunderbolt, that can 
A mountain fhake, can ftirre this man !*" 

Olor Ifc. p. 4.6. 

At the clofe of this volume are inferted four 
profe tranflations, all of them bearing more or 
lefs on the Author's purfuits or circumftances. 
The firft, " On the benefit we may get by our 
enemies" from Plutarch; the fecond, " Of the 
Difeafes of the Mind and the Body" from the 
fame ; another, on the fame fubjedt, from Maxi- 
mus Tyrius ; and tartly, " The praife and hap- 
pineffe of the CountrieLife" from the Spanifh of 
Guevara. All thefe have feparate title-pages, 
and were publifhed in the year 1651. 

We now however approach a very important 
period of our Poet's life, when a change feems 
to have come over his fpirit, which influenced 
it to the clofe of his earthly career. He was at 
this time vifited by a fevere and lingering illnefs, 
of what character exactly is not fpecified. It 
was however of a nature to bring him to the 
brink of the grave, and to keep him long in a 
ftate of folitude and fufFering ; and while he 
was in this condition, more deep and folemn 



xxxii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

religious views and feelings appear to have 
broken in upon his foul than any he had before 
harboured. The high and holy claims of God, 
the infinite importance of eternity, the worth- 
leflhefs of the world and the folly of living for 
it, the bafenefs of fin and the confequences of 
indulging in it, all feem to have preffed heavily 
on his mind at this crifis, and to have filled him 
with great humility and ferioufnefs ; and though 
he fubfequently learned to look with hope and 
comfort to the mercy of God, vouchfafed to 
the penitent, through the death and merits of 
Chrift Jefus, ftill this fpirit of lowly watchful- 
nefs, fo fuitable to frail humanity, feems never 
to have left him. He carried it with him to 
his dying bed ; and it appears in the Epitaph 
he wifhed to be infcribed on his tomb. During 
this period likewife, he feems to have had his 
affections feverely tried by the untimely death 
of friends. There are in the pieces compofed 
by him at this feafon many touching, though 
obfcure allufions to fuch lofles. And thefe, 
along with his other trials, contributed to break 
up the fallow ground in his heart, and prepare 
it for the reception of the divine feed that was 
fubfequently fown there, juft at this time he 
became acquainted with the writings of George 



OF HENRT V AUG HAN. xxxii 

Herbert, and derived from them fo much of 
comfort and instruction, that he determined to 
make the life and compofitions of that holy- 
man his own future models. In imitation 
therefore of his Temple, he compofed, during 
the intervals of exemption from acute fufFering, 
a number of little " Sacred Poems, and Pious 
Ejaculations ;" and while his Oxford friends 
were publiming, contrary to his wifhes, the 
Olor Ifcanus, he gave the world a more faithful 
record of his mind and heart, in a collection of 
thefe, entitled, " Si lex Scintillans" (Sparks from 
the flintftone.) This work was printed in 
London in the year 1650, and confifted of only 
one of the two parts fubfequently publifhed to- 
gether. 

Clofe upon this publication followed a little 
book of devotions in profe, entitled, " The 
Mount of Olives" and printed in the year 1652. 
It confifts entirely of prayers, meditations, and 
admonitions, all excellent of their kind, and 
calculated at once to benefit the reader, and 
raife the writer in his eftimation. There is 
little or no poetry in the volume, the only ori- 
ginal poetical production there being a kind of 
preface to the laft piece in the volume, " An 
excellent difcourfe of the bleffed Jlate of man in 
c 



xxxiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

glory , written by the mojl reverend and holy Father 
Anfelm, Archbijhop of Canterbury " The lines 
are as follows, 

Here holy Anfelme lives in ev'ry page, 

And fits Arch-bifhop ftill, to vex the age. 

Had he forefeen (and who knows but he did ?) 

This fatal wrack, which deepe in time lay hid, 

'Tis but juft to believe, that little hand 

Which clouded him, but now benights our land, 

Had never (like Elias) driv'n him hence, 

A fad retirer for a flight offence. 

For were he now, like the returning year, 

Reftored, to view thefe defolations here, 

He would do penance for his old complaint, 

And (weeping) fay, that Rufus was a Saint. 

This work is dedicated, Oitober ift, 165 1, 
to Sir Charles Egerton, Knight, to whom the 
writer fays, " I know, Sir, you will be pleafed 
to accept of this poore O live-leaf e prefented to 
you, fo that I {hall not be driven to put forth 
my hand to take in my Dove again." It will 
be conjeftured, from the Epithets given to St. 
Anfelm, that Vaughan's religious fpirit, though 
very fervent and real, was not exactly of the 
charadter of that which prevailed at this time. 
The Puritan principle had been to cry down 
antiquity, and pour contempt on that which 
was authorized and eftablifhed. Vaughan on 
the other hand was a lover of order. He knew 



OF HENRT V AUG HAN. xxxv 

how to diftinguifh between forms and formality. 
He delighted to look up to the great and good 
of other days for direction and precedent. What 
others before him had found to be conducive to 
their fpiritual welfare, might, he thought, con- 
duce to his. He was glad therefore to liften 
to their teaching, and conform to their exam- 
ple ; and inftruction always came to him with 
additional weight and force, when backed by 
fuch authority. 

At no very diftant period Vaughan fent forth 
another little volume in profe, entitled, " Flore s 
Solitudinis" ( Flowers of Solitude ) cc certaine 
pieces collecled by him in his fickneffe and retire- 
ment" There are, firft, two difcourfes, the 
one "of Temperance and Patience" and the 
other cc of Life and Death" tranflated, in 1652, 
from the Latin of Nierembergius \ fecondly, 
" the World contemned" taken from Eucherius, 
Bifhop of Lyons ; and thirdly, " the Life of 
Paulinus^ Bi/hop ofNola" compiled by Vaughan 
himfelf. Thefe are dedicated to the fame Sir 
Charles Egerton, to whom his Mount of Olives 
was infcribed, and his addrefs to him concludes 
in thefe words ; " You will look upon my fud- 
daine and fmall prefents as upon fome forward 
flowers, whofe kinde hafte hath brought them 



xxxvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

above ground in cold weather. The uncertainty 
of life, and a peevifh inconftant ftate of health, 
would not fuffer me to ftay for greater perform- 
ances, or a better feafon, left, lofing this, I mould 
never again have the opportunity to manifeft, 
how much and how fincerely I am, Sir, your 
Servant, &c." Thefe pieces, Vaughan tells us, 
were likewife tranflated by him during his long 
illnefs. They had comforted and inftrudied him 
under his heavy afflictions, and he publifhed them 
in the hope that they might produce like effe&s 
on others, and enable them likewife to give up 
the world for God. " To leave the world," 
he fays in his preface, " when it leaves us, is 
both fordid and forrowful : I honour that tem- 
per which can lay by the garland when he 
might keep it on ; which can pafs by a rofebud, 
and bid it grow, when he is invited to crop it." 
It is a remarkable circumftance that fome of 
the moft fweet and fimple profe writers in our 
language are to be found among thofe, whofe 
compofitions in verfe are the moft full of affec- 
tations and conceits. What a diflimilarity for 
inftance is there between Cowley's " EJfays " 
and his " Mijlrefs ;" between Donne's "Ser- 
mons" and his "Poems!" Ouarles's grotefque 
quaintnefs in his C€ Emblems " curioufly con- 



OF HENRT VAUGHAN. xxxvii 

trafts with the fimple ftrength of his "Judgment 
and Mercy ;" and we find little of the Epigram- 
matic abruptnefs of the " Night Thoughts " 
in Young's " Centaur not fabulous." And if 
Vaughan had attempted any great original work 
in profe, it feems highly probable, from the brief 
fpecimens which we have of his capabilities, 
that he would have excelled in this fpecies of 
compofition like wife. The fubje£ls however, 
on which he employed his pen, appear to have 
had no intereft for the public at this period. 
Indeed, tranflations from the Fathers were not 
likely at fuch a time to meet with many fympa- 
thizing readers. The world had been deluged 
by the Puritans with their weak and wafhy 
publications. Still their crude theology was 
that generally in vogue. Thofe, who had been 
difpofed to go up and drink at the flream a little 
nearer to its fource, had pafled away, with the 
exiled Cofins and Bramhalls of a former gene- 
ration. The court party was foon to come 
back from France, vitiated alike in tafte and 
principles, and ready to make a jeft of every- 
thing religious. This then, was not a time at 
which treatifes, fuch as thofe now publifhed by 
Henry Vaughan, were likely to become popular. 
They were accordingly never reprinted, and 



xxxviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

their very exiftence is almoft unknown to ordi- 
nary Englifh Readers. The following verfes 
clofe this little volume, of which the laft thirty- 
four lines are very ftriking. 

ST. PAULINUS, TO HIS WIFE, THERASIA. 

" Come, ray time Confort in my joyes and care, 
Let this uncertaine and ftill wafting mare 
, Of our fraile life be given to God ! you fee, 
How the fwift dayes drive hence inceiTantlie ; 
And the fraile drooping world, though ftill thought 

g a ) r > 
In fecret flow confumption weares away. 
All that we have pafie from us, and once paft, 
Returne no more. Like clouds they feeme to laft, 
And fo delude loofe greedy mindes. But where 
Are now thofe trim deceits ? To what dark fphere 
Are all thofe falfe fires funk, which once fo fhined, 
They captivated foules and ruled mankind ? 
And what, Therafia, doth it us availe, 
That fpatious ftreames fhall flow and never faile, 
That aged forrefts live to tyre the winds, 
And flowers each Spring returne and keepe their 

kinds ? 
Thofe ftill remaine ; but all our Fathers dyed ; 
And we ourfelves but for few dayes abide. 

This fhort tyme then was not given us in vaine, 
To whom tyme dyes, in which we dying gaine 5 
But that in tyme eternall life fhould be 
Our care, and endleffe reft our induftrie. 
And yet this tafke, which the rebellious deeme 
Too harfh, who God's mild lawes for chaines efteem, 
Suites with the meeke and harmleffe heart fo right, 
That 'tis all eafe, all comfort, and delight. 






OF HENRT FA UGH AN. xxxix 

" To love our God with all our ftrength and will ; 

" To covet nothing 5 to devife no ill 

" Againft our neighbours 5 to procure or doe 

" Nothing to others which we would not to 

" Our very felves 5 not to revenge our wrong 5 

" To be content with little 5 not to long 

" For wealth and greatnefle j to defpife or jeare 

" No man 5 and, if we be defpifed, to bear : 

" To feed the hungry ; to hold faft our crown ; 

" To take from others nought to give our owne." 

Thefe are his precepts, and alas in thefe 

What is fo hard but faith may doe with eafe ? 

He that the holy Prophets doth beleeve, 

And on God's words relies, (words that ftill live, 

And cannot dye) that in his heart hath writ 

His Saviour's death and triumph 5 and doth yet 

With conftant care admitting no neglect 

His fecond dreadfull coming ftill expe£r. ; 

To fuch a liver earthly things are dead j 

With Heaven alone, and Hopes of Heaven he's fed. 

He is no vafTall unto worldly trafh, 

Nor that black knowledge, which pretends to wafh, 

But doth defile 5 a knowledge by which men 

With ftudied care lofe Paradife again. 

Commands and titles, the vaine world's device, 

With gold, the forward feed of fin and vice, 

He never minds. His ayme is farre more high 5 

And ftoopes to nothing lower than the fkye. 

Nor griefs nor pleafures breede him any pain : 

He nothing feares to lofe 5 would nothing gaine. 

Whatever hath not God he doth deteft. 

He lives to Chrift ; is dead to all the reft. 

This Holy One, fent hither from above, 

A Virgin brought forth, fhadowed by the Dove. 

A Crown of Thornes His bleflfed head did wound, 

Nayles pierced His hands and feet, and He faft bound 



xl BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

Stuck to the painfull croffe, where, hanged till dead, 

With a cold fpeare his heart's dear blood was fhed. 

All this for man, for bad ungratefnll man, 

The true God fuffered : not that fuffering can 

Adde to his glory aught, who can receive 

AceefTe from nothing 5 whom none can bereave 

Of his all-fulnefle : but the bleft defigne 

Of His fad death was to fave me from mine. 

He dying bore my fms ; and the third day 

His early rifmg raifed me from the clay. 

To fuch great mercies what mall I preferre, 

Or who from loving God fhall mee deterre ? 

Burne mee alive with curious fkilfull paine, 

Cut up and fearch each warme and breathing vein ; 

When all is done death brings a quick releafe, 

And the poore mangled body fleepes in peace. 

Hale mee to prifons 5 fhut mee up in braffe : 

My ftill free foule from thence to God fhall paffe. 

Banifh or bind me $ I can be no where 

A ftranger or alone ; my God is there. 

I fear not famine. How can he be faid 

To ftarve, who feedes upon the Living Bread ? 

And yet this courage fprings not from my ftore 5 

Chrift gave it mee, who can give much, much more. 

I of myfelf can nothing dare or doe 5 

He bids mee fight ; and makes mee conquer too. 

If like great Abraham I mould have command 

To leave my father's houfe and native land, 

I would with joy to unknown regions run, 

Bearing the banner of His bleifed Son. 

On worldly goods I will have no defigne ; 

But ufe my owne, as if mine were not mine. 

Wealth I'll not wonder at, nor greatnefle feeke ; 

But chufe, though laughed at, to be poore and meake. 

In woe and wealth I'll keepe the fame flayed mind 5 

Grief fhall not breake me, nor joyes make me blind ! 



OF HENRY V AUG HAN. xli 

Then come, my faithfull confort, joyne with me 
In this good fight, and my true helper be ! 
Cheer me when fad, advile me when I ftray $ 
Let us be each the other's guide and flay. 
Be your Lord's guardian. Give joynt ayde and due 5 
Helpe him when falne ; Rife when he helpeth you. 
That fo we may not onely one flefh bee, 
But in one fpirit and one will agree V* 

It would be gratifying to be able to ftate that 
Henry Vaughan's poetry, replete as it is with 
beauty and originality, had met with a better 
reception than his profe. But we cannot in 
honefty fay that this was the cafe. That he 
had his admirers among the difcerning few there 
can be no doubt. His friends at Oxford more 
efpecially feem to have treafured up carefully 
every fcrap of verfe that fell from his pen. But 
with the public at large, and particularly with 
reference to his religious poetry, it was far 
otherwife. It might at firft fight appear that 
his Silex Scintillans had at leaft found readers 
enough to carry it through a fecond edition. 
A volume fo defignated by the Publilher was 
fent forth in the year 1655, containing all the 
poems printed in the year 1651, together with 
a fecond part, almoft equal in extent to the 
former, and the whole preceded by a very in- 
terefting preface, full of juft thoughts and pious 



xlii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

fentiments. But on clofer infpe6tion it is evi- 
dent that we have here only the unfold copies 
of the volume before publiflied, with the pre- 
face and fecond part added to them, and a new 
title prefixed to the whole. All this is difcernible 
from the paging of this nominally fecond edition, 
and it fpeaks loudly of the neglect which the 
previous volume had experienced. The poems 
contained in this fecond part are in no refpecT: 
inferior to thofe before publifhed. Indeed in 
fome points they prefent rather an improve- 
ment on them. They feem to exhibit more of 
Vaughan's own natural vein, and lefs of that of 
his excellent mafter. Preferving all the piety 
of George Herbert, they have lefs of his quaint 
and fantaftic turns, with a much larger infufion 
of poetic feeling and expreflion. Their merits 
however feem to have been but ill appreciated 
by the taftelefs and godlefs generation for whom 
Vaughan wrote, and his little volume accor- 
dingly foon fank into oblivion. We learn from 
its contents that the Author was ftill a fufFerer, 
his body ftill labouring under the protracted 
illnefs that had attacked him five years before, 
and his heart bleeding from the further lofs of 
beloved relatives and friends. 

It is fcarcely to be wondered that, under fuch 






OF HENRT VAUGHAN, xliii 

difcouraging circumftances, Henry Vaughan, 
in the prime of life, and the full maturity of his 
talents, fhould have ceafed from all further 
Authorfhip. Accordingly during the forty years 
that he lived, after the fecond edition of his 
Silex Scintillans, he gave nothing more to the 
public. In the year 1678 however, one of his 
zealous Oxford friends, J. W. (the initials have 
not been verified) fent forth a little volume, 
entitled, " Thalia Rediviva ; the pajjiimes and 
diverfions of a Countrey Mufe" which, though 
it contains no reference to Henry Vaughan in 
the title-page, confifts entirely of his poetry, 
together with a few of his brother Thomas's 
Latin verfes appended. But in this publication 
Henry Vaughan took no part, though there is 
no reafon to fuppofe that he was actually oppofed 
to it. The contents are of a motley defcription, 
confifting of elegies, tranflations, addrefTes to 
individuals, and are evidently of the moft various 
dates, fome of them written in his youthful 
days at the Univerfity, and others in his maturer 
years, fubfequently in all probability to the pub- 
lication of the " Silex Scintillans" The Volume 
is umered in by commendatory verfes from "the 
matchlefs Orinda," Mrs. Catherine Philips, Dr. 
Thomas Powell, and other Oxford friends and 



xliv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

admirers, and contains nothing which the mod: 
faftidious moralift could find fault with. At the 
clofe of the work is a collection of religious 
pieces, entitled, "Pious Thoughts and Ejacula- 
tions" the whdle of which, together with a 
Paftoral Elegy on the death of Thomas Vaughan, 
we have included in the volume now publifhed, 
fo that the whole of Henry Vaughan's religious 
poetry may ftand at once before the reader. 

From the time of this laft publication to that 
of his death we have no further information to 
furnifh refpecting our Author. He appears to 
have ftolen away altogether from public life, to 
purfue his quiet walk with God, and enjoy the 
converfe of fuch friends as were ftill left to him ; 
and found abundant fcope for the exercife of his 
powers, in the labours of a ufeful profeflion, 
and the education of his growing family. He 
was twice married, and had by his firft wife five 
children, two fons and three daughters, and by 
the fecond, one daughter. Of the latter alone 
is anything further known. She married John 
Turberville, and her granddaughter died fingle 
in 1780, aged 92. For himfelf he had the 
fatisfaclion of clofing his days under the roof 
and amidft the fcenes where they had com- 
menced. His beloved Ufk and the beautiful 









OF HENRY FAUGHAN. xlv 

vale through which it flows were daily before 
his eyes to the laft, and probably afforded him 
many a poetic ramble, when his more ferious 
avocations admitted of them. It would appear 
from one of his little Latin poems, that he was 
an angler, and the moral with which he accom- 
panies a falmon of his own catching, fent as a 
prefent to a friend, would feem to imply that 
this amufementwas occafionally purfued by him 
even in riper and more thoughtful years. But 
thefe little conjectural notices of his ordinary 
life and avocations muft neceffarily reft on very 
(lender data. Much more fatisfactory is it to 
know, that he died, as he lived, in holy con- 
fcioufnefs of his own unworthinefs, and in hum- 
ble dependence on the merits of his Redeemer. 
He departed this life, April the 23rd, in the 
year 1695, aged 73, and defired that the fol- 
lowing infcription mould be placed on his 

tomb, 

" Servus inutilis, 

Peccator maximus, 

Hie jaceo. 

Gloria ! ♦$• miferere ! " 

c An unprofitable fervant, the chief of finners, 
I lie here. Glory be to God ! kJh Lord have 
mercy upon me ! ' 

Such are the particulars that we have been 



xlvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

able to gather refpe&ing Henry Vaughan and 
his works. They prefent a picture of one who 
lived to God rather than to man ; and if there is 
little of incident in the details, let us remember, 
that it is with the lives of private individuals as 
with the reigns of Princes ; thofe are often the 
happieft and moft profperous, which make the 
leaft noife and (how in the page of Hiftory. 
The mind and heart of our Author are abun- 
dantly exhibited in his writings, which are full 
of individuality ; and while we would deprecate 
pledging ourfelves to every fentiment they con- 
tain, we feel that they claim for him unvarying 
refpecT:, and commend themfelves to us as the 
genuine overflowings of a fincere and humble 
fpirit. We feel, while reading them, that we 
have to do with a truly good and earneft man. 
His poems difplay much originality of thought, 
and frequently likewife much felicity of expref- 
fion. The former is indeed at times condenfed 
into obfcurity, and the latter defaced with 
quaintnefs. But Vaughan never degenerates 
into a fmooth verfifier of common places. One 
indeed of his great faults as a poet, is the attempt 
to crowd too much of matter into his fentences, 
fo that they/ead roughly and inharmonioufly, 
the words almoft elbowing each other out of 



OF HENRT V AUG HAN. xlvii 

the lines. His rhymes too are frequently de- 
fective, and he delights in making the fenfe of 
one line run over into the line following. This, 
when not overdone, is doubtlefs a beauty in 
verification, and redeems it from that mono- 
tony, which fo offends in the poets of Queen 
Anne's time. Yet even this may be pufhed to 
excefs, and become by its uniformity liable itfelf 
to the imputation of monotony. Take for in- 
ftance the very beautiful lines of Vaughan en- 
titled " Rules and L efforts " the firft five ftanzas 
of which ftrikingly exemplify the fault here 
fpecified ; and it was perhaps their confequent 
harfhnefs, that induced Bernard Barton to tranf- 
pofe them, not infelicitoufly, into a different 
ftanza. A more favourable fpecimen of line 
flowing into line is the following " Morning 
Addrefs to a Bird." 

Hither thou com'ft. The bufie wind all night 
Blew through thy lodging ; where thy own warm 

wing 
Thy pillow was : and many a fullen florin, 
For which coarfe man feems much the fitter born, 

Rained on thy bed, 

And harmlefs head ; 
And now as frefh and cheerful as the light 
Thy little heart in early hymns doth fing ! 

This will be felt to be very tender and beau- 
tiful, notwithftanding the imperfect rhyme in 



xlviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, ETC. 

the fourth line ; and the volume now repub- 
lifhed is full of like paflages. Indeed it may 
with truth be faid of Vaughan that his faults 
are in a great meafure thofe of the age he lived 
in, and the matter he imitated, while his beau- 
ties are all his own. That he will ever become 
a thoroughly popular poet is fcarcely to be ex- 
pected in this age. But among thofe who can 
prize poetic thought, even when clad in a drefs 
fomewhat quaint and antiquated, who love to 
commune with a heart overflowing with reli- 
gious ardour, and who do not value this the 
lefs, becaufe it has been lighted at the earlier 
and purer fires of Chriftianity, and has caught 
a portion of their youthful glow, poems like 
thefe of Henry Vaughan will not want their 
readers, nor will fuch readers be unthankful to 
have our Author and his Works introduced to 
their acquaintance. 

H. F. L. 



SILEX SCINTILLANS. 




The Author's Preface to the 
following Hymns. 

[HAT this Kingdom hath abounded 
with thofe ingenious perfons, which 
in the late notion are termed Wits^ 
is too well known. Many of them 
having caft away all their fair portion of time, 
in no better imployments, than a deliberate 
fearch, or excogitation, of idle words^ and a moft 
vain, infatiable, defire to be reputed Poets; 
leaving behinde them no other Monuments of 
thofe excellent abilities conferred upon them, 
but fuch as they may (with a Predeceffor of 
theirs) term Parricides, and a foul- killing Iflue, 
for that is the Bpafislov, and Laureate Crown, 
which idle Poems will certainly bring to their 
unrelenting Authors. 

And well it were for them, if thofe willingly 
ftudied and wilfully publifhed vanities could de- 
file no fpirits, but their own ; but the cafe is far 
worfe. Thefe Vipers furvive their Parents^ 



4 THE PREFACE. 

and for many ages after (like Epidemic difeafes) 
infeft whole Generations, corrupting always, 
and unhallowing the beft-gifted Souls and the 
moft capable Vejfels ; for whofe fan&ification 
and well-fare, the glorious Son of God laid down 
his lifej and fuffered the pretious blood of his 
blefled and innocent heart to be poured out. 
In the mean time it cannot be denyed, but thefe 
men are had in remembrance, though we can- 
not fay with any comfort, Their memorial is 
blejfed ; for, that I may fpeak no more than the 
truth (let their paflionate worjhippers fay what 
they pleafe) all the commendations that can be 
juftly given them will amount to no more than 
what Prudentius the Chriftian-facred Poet be- 
ftowed upon Symmachus ; 

Os dignum, <zterno tinclum quodfulgeat auro, 
Si mallet laudare Deum, cui fordida monftra 
Prsetulit, £f liquidam t enter a<vit crimine vocem. 
Haud aliter, quam cum raflris quis tentet eburnis 
Ccenofum <v erf are folum, &c, 

In Englifh thus, 
A wit moft worthy in tryed Gold to fhine, 
Immortal Gold ! had he fung the Divine 
Praife of his Maker : to whom he preferr'd 
Obfcene, vile fancies, and prophanely marr'd 
A rich, rare ftile with finful, lewd contents ,• 
No otherwife, then if with Inftruments 
Of polinVd Ivory, fome drudge mould ftir 
A dirty fink, &c. 

This comparifon is nothing odious, and it is 
as true^ as it is appofite ; for a good wit in a bad 



THE PREFACE. 5 

fubje£t is (as Solomon faid of the fair and foolijh 
woman) Like a jewel of gold in a fwine' } s fnowt^ 
Prov. 11. 22. Nay, the more acute the Author 
is, there is fo much the more danger and death 
in the Work. Where the Sun is bufie upon a 
dung-bill, the iffue is always fome unclean vermine. 
Divers perfons of eminent piety and learning (I 
meddle not with the feditious and fchifmatical) 
have, long before my time, taken notice of this 
malady ; for the complaint againft vitious verfe> 
even by peaceful and obedient fpirits y is of 
fome antiquity in this Kingdom. And yet, 
as if the evil confequence attending this invete- 
rate error were but a fmall thing, there is fprung 
very lately another profperous device to affift it 
in the fubverfion of fouls. Thofe that want the 
genius of verfe fall to tranfating ; and the 
people are every term plentifully furnifhed with 
various Foraign vanities ; fo that the moft lafci- 
vious compofitions of France and Italy are here 
naturalized and made Engli/h ; and this, as it 
is fadly obferved, with fo much favour and fuc- 
cefs, that nothing takes (as they rightly phrafe 
it) like a Romance. And very frequently, if that 
Character be not an Ivybujh, the buyer receives 
this lewd ware from perfons of honour , who want 
not reafon to forbear : much private misfortune 
having fprung from no other feed at firft, than 
fome infe&ious and diflblving Legend. 

To continue after years of difcretion in this 
vanity , is an inexcufable defertion of pious fo- 



6 THE PREFACE. 

briety ; and to perfift fo to the end, is a wilful 
defpifing of God's facred exhortations, by a con- 
ftant fenfual volutation or wallowing in impure 
thoughts and fcurrilous conceits, which both de- 
file their Authors, and as many more as they 
are communicated to. If every idle word Jh all 
be accounted for ; and if no corrupt communication 
Jhould proceed out of our mouths, how defperate, 
I befeech you, is their condition, who all their 
life time, and out of meer defign, ftudy tafcivi- 
ous ficlions, then carefully record and publifh 
them, that inftead of grace and life, they may 
minijler fin and death unto their readers ? It was 
wifely confidered, and pioufly faid by one, That 
he would read no idle books ; both in regard of 
love to his own foul, and pity unto his that made 
them ; for, faid he, if I be corrupted by them, their 
Compofer is immediately a caufe of my ill ; and at 
the day of reckonings though now dead, mujl give 
an account for it, becaufe I am corrupted by his 
bad example, which he left behinde him. I will 
write none, left I hurt them that come after me ; 
I will read none, left I augment his punijhment 
that is gone before me* I will neither write, nor 
read, left I prove a foe to my own foul : while I 
live, I fin too much ; let me not continue longer in 
wickednefs than I do in life. It is a fentence of 
facred authority, that he that is dead is freed from 
fin ; becaufe he cannot in that flate, which is 
without the body, fin any more ; but he that 
writes idle books makes for himfelf another body, 



THE PREFACE. 7 

in which he always lives, and fins (after death) 
as faft and as foul, as ever he did in his life ; 
which very confideration deferves to be a fuf- 
ficient antidote againft this evil difeafe. 

And here, becaufe I would prevent a juft 
cenfure by my free confejjion, I muft remember, 
that I myfelf have, for many years together, 
languifhed of this very ficknefs ; and it is no 
long time lince I have recovered. But (blefled 
be God for it !) I have by his faving affiftance 
fuppreft my greatejl follies, and thofe which ef- 
caped from me, are, I think, as innoxious, as 
moft of that vein ufe to be ; befides, they are 
interlined with many virtuous, and fome pious 
mixtures. What I fpeak of them is truth : but 
let no man miftake it for an extenuation of faults, 
as if I intended an Apology for them, or myfelf, 
who am confcious of fo much guilt in both, as 
can never be expiated without fpeci a I forrows, 
and that cleanfing and pretious effufion of my 
Almighty Redeemer. And if the world will 
be fo charitable as to grant my requeft, I do 
here moft humbly and earneftly beg that none 
would read them. 

But an idle or fenfual fubjecl is not all the 
poyfon in thefe Pamphlets. Certain Authors 
have been fo irreverendly bold, as to dafh Scrip- 
tures, and the facred Relatives of God with their 
impious conceits ; And (which I cannot fpeak 
without grief of heart) fome of thofe defperate 
adventurers may, I think, be reckoned amongft 



8 THE PREFACE. 

the principal or moft learned Writers of Englijh 
verfe. 

Others of a later date, being corrupted, it 
may be, by that evil Genius, which came in with 
the publique diftra&ions, have fluffed their 
books with Oatbes, horrid Execrations, and a 
moft grofs and Audiedfilthinefs. But the hurt 
that enfues by the publication of pieces fo noto- 
rioufly ill, lies heavily upon the Stationer's ac- 
count, who ought in confcience to refufe them, 
when they are put into his hands. No lofs is 
fo doleful as that gain, that will endamage the 
foul. He that prints lewdnefs and impieties, is 
that mad-man in the Proverbs, who cajieth fire- 
brands, arrow S) and death. 

The fuppreffion of this pleafing and prevailing 
evil lies not altogether in the power of the 
Magi/irate; for it will flie abroad in Manufcripts, 
when it fails of entertainment at the Prefs. The 
true remedy lies wholly in their bofoms, who 
are the gifted perfons, by a wife exchange of 
vain and vitious fubjeSfs, for Divine Themes 
and Celejlial Praife. The performance is eafie, 
and, were it the moft difficult in the world, the 
reward Is fo glorious, that it infinitely tranfcends 
it : for they that turn many to righteoufnefs Jhall 
[bine like the Jlars for ever and ever : whence 
follows this undenyable inference, that the cor- 
rupting of many, being a contrary work, the 
recompenfe muft be fo too ; and then I know 
nothing refer ved for them, but the blacknefs of 



THE PREFACE. 9 

darknefs for ever ; from which, O God, deliver 
all penitent and reformed fpirits ! 

The firft, that with any effectual fuccefs at- 
tempted a diverfion of this foul and overflowing 
ftream,wasthe blefTed man, Mr. George Herbert^ 
whofe holy life and verfe gained many pious 
Converts^ of whom I am the leaft ; and gave the 
firft check to a moft flourifhing and admired 
Wit of his time. After him followed diverfe, 
— Sed non pajfibus aquh ; they had more of 
fajhion than of force. And the reafon of their 
fo vaft diftance from him, befides differing fpirits 
and qualifications, (for his meafure was eminent,) 
I fufpe£t to be, becaufe they aimed more at 
verfe, than perfeclion^ as may be eafily gathered 
by their frequent impreffions, and numerous 
pages. Hence fprang thofe wide, thofe weak, 
and lean conceptions, which in the moft inclin- 
able Reader will fcarce give any nourifhment 
or help to devotion; for, not flowing from a true 
praftick piety, it was impoflible they fhould 
effect thofe things abroad, which they never 
had acquaintance with at home ; being onely the 
productions of a common fpirit, and the obvious 
ebullitions of that light humor, which takes 
the pen in hand, out of no other confideration, 
than to be feen in print. It is true indeed, that 
to give up our thoughts to pious Themes and 
Contemplations, if it be done for pietie's fake, is 
a greaty?^/> towards perfeclion ; becaufe it will 
refine, and difpofe to devotion and fan&ity. 



io THE PREFACE. 

And further, it will procure for us (fo eafily 
communicable is that loving Spirit) fome fmall 
prelibation of thofe heavenly refrejhments, which 
defcend but feldom, and then very fparingly, 
upon men of an ordinary or indifferent holinefs. 
But he that defires to excel in this kinde of 
Hagiography, or holy writing, muft drive by 
all means for perfeclion and true holynefs, that a 
door may be opened to him in heaven, Rev. 4. I. 
and then he will be able to write, with Hiero- 
theus and holy Herbert, " A true Hymn.' 9 

To effeil this in fome meafure, I have begged 
leave to communicate this my poor Talent to 
the Church, under the prote£tion and condu£t 
of her glorious Head : who, if he will vouchfafe 
to own it, and go along with it, can make it as 
ufeful now in the publick as it hath been to me 
in private. In the perufal of it, you will (per- 
adventure) obferve fome paffages, whofe hiftory 
or reafon may feem fomething remote ; but 
were they brought nearer, and plainly expofed 
to your view, though that perhaps might quiet 
your curiofity, yet would it not conduce much 
to your greater advantage. And therefore I 
muft defire you to accept of them in that lati- 
tude, which is already allowed them. By the 
laft poems in the book, were not that mi/lake 
here prevented, you would judge all to be 
fatherlefs, and the edition pofthume ; for in- 
deed / was nigh unto death, and am ftill at no 
great diftance from it ; which was the neceflary 



THE PREFACE. n 

reafon for that folemn and accomplifhed drefs, 
you will finde this imprejjion in. 

But the God of the fpirits of all fie Jh hath 
granted me a further ufe of mine than I did look 
for in the body ; and when I expefted, and had 
by his afliftance prepared for, a mejfage of death, 
then did he anfwer me with life ; I hope to his 
glory, and my great advantage; that I may 
flourifh not with leafe onely, but with fame fruit 
alfo ; which hope and earneft defire of his poor 
Creature, I humbly befeech him to perfect and 
fulfil for his dear Son's fake, unto Whom, with 
Him and the moft Holy and loving Spirit, be 
afcribed by Angels, by Men, and by all his 
Works, All Glory, and Wifdom, and Dominion, 
in this the Temporal and in the Eternal Being. 
Amen. 

Newton by UJk 9 near Sketh-Rock, 
Septem. 30, 1654. 




Lord, the hope of Ifrael, all they that 
for fake thee Jhall be ajhamed ; and they 
that depart from thee, Jhall be written in 
the earth, becaufe they have for faken the 
Lord, the fountain of living waters. 

Heal me, O Lord, and I Jhall be healed ; fave 
me, and I Jhall be faved,for thou art my health, and 
my great deliverer. 

I f aid in the cutting off of my days, I Jhall go to 
the gates of the grave ; I have deprived my f elf of 
the refidue of my years. 

I faid, I Jhall not Jee the Lord, even the Lord in 
the Land of the living : I Jhall behold man no more 
with the Inhabitants of the world. 

O Lord! by thee doth man live, and from thee is 
the life of my Jpirit : therefore wilt thou recover me, 
and make me to live. 

Thou haft in love to my foul delivered it from the 
pit of corruption ; for thou haft caft all my ftns behind 
thy back. 

For thy name's fake haft thou put off thine anger ; 
for thy praife haft thou refrained from me, that I 
Jhould not be cut off. 



For the grave cannot praife thee, death cannot 
celebrate thee : they, that go down into the pit, can- 
not hope for thy truth. 

The living, the living, he jh all praife thee, as I do 
this day : the Father to the children jh all make known 
thy truth. 

Lord; thou haft been merciful ; thou haft 
brought back my life from corruption; thou haft re- 
deemed me from my fin. 

They that follow after lying vanities, forfake their 
own mercy. 

Therefore Jh all thy f on gs be with me, and my prayer 
unto the God of my life. 

1 will go unto the altar of my God, unto God, the 
joy of my youth ; and in thy fear will I worjhip to- 
wards thy holy temple. 

I will facrifice unto thee with the voice of thankf- 
giving ; I will pay that which I have vowed y fal~ 
vation is of the Lord. 



To my moft merciful, my mofl loving, 

and dearly loved Redeemer, the 

ever bleffed, the onely Holy 

and Just One, 

JESUS CHRIST, 

The Son of the living GOD, and the 
facred Virgin Mary. 




Y God ! thou that did ft dye for me, 
)) Thefe thy death's fruits I offer thee ; 
I Death that to me was life and light, 
But dark and deep pangs to thy fight. 
Some drops of thy all-quickning blood 
Fell on my heart ; thofe made it bud, 
And put forth thus, though Lord, before 
The ground was curfl and void of ftore. 
Indeed I had fome here to hire 
Which long redded thy defire, 
That fton'd thy fervants, and did move 
To have thee murther'd for thy love ; 
But Lord, I have expell'd them, and fo bent, 
Beg thou wouldft take thy Tenant's rent. 



16 THE DEDICATION. 



II. 
Dear Lord, 'tis fmifhed ! and now he 
That copyed it, prefents it thee. 
'Twas thine firft, and to thee returns, 
From thee it mined, though here it burns ; 
If the Sun rife on Rocks, is't right, 
To call it their inherent light? 
No, nor can I fay, this is mine, 
For, deareft Jefus, 'tis all thine, 
As thy cloaths, when thou with cloaths wert clad, 
Both light from thee, and virtue had ; 
And now, as then, within this place, 
Thou to poor rags doll ftill give grace. 
This is the earneft thy love fheds, 
The candle mining on fome heads, 
Till at thy charges they mall be, 
Cloath'd all with immortality. 



III. 

My dear Redeemer, the world's light, 

And life too, and my heart's delight ! 

For all thy mercies and thy truth, 

Shew'd to me in my finful youth, 

For my fad failings and my wilde 

Murmurings at thee, when mofl milde ; 

For all my fecret faults, and each 

Frequent relapfe and wilful breach, 

For all defigns meant againft thee, 

And ev'ry publifh'd vanity, 

Which thou divinely haft forgiven, 

While thy blood wafh'd me white as heaven ; 






THE DEDICATION. 17 

I nothing have to give to thee, 
But this thy own gift, given to me. 
Refufe it not ; for now thy Token 
Can tell thee where a heart is broken. 

Rev. cap. 1. ver. 5, 6, 7. 

Unto him that loved us, and wajbed us from our 
fins in his own blood. 

And hath made us Kings and Priefts unto God 
and his Father ; to him be glory and dominion \ for 
ever and ever. Amen. 

Behold, he cometh with clouds, and every eye Jhall 
fee him, and they alfo which pierced him; and all kin- 
dreds of the earth jhall wail bee aufe of him: evenfo. 
Amen. 



f 




>AIN Wits and Eyes, 
Leave, and be wife : 
Abufe not, fhun not holy iire, 
But with true tears wafh off your mire. 

Tears and thefe flames will foon grow kinde, 

And mix an eye-falve for the blinde. 

Tears cleanfe and fupple without faile, 

And fire will purge your callous veyl. 

Then comes the light ; which, when you fpy, 

And fee your naked nefs thereby, 

Praife him, who dealt his gifts fo free, 

In tears to you, in fire to me. 




SILEX SCINTILLANS. 

PART I. 
Regeneration. 

WARD, and (till in bonds, one day 
I Hole abroad ; 
It was high-fpring, and all the way 
Primrofed, and hung with fhade ; 
Yet was it froft within ; 
And furly wind 
Blafted my infant buds, and finne 

Like clouds ecclipfed my mind. 

2. 

Storm'd thus ; I ftraight perceived my fpring 

Meere ftage and fhow, 
My walke a monftrous, mountain'd thing, 
Rough-call with rocks and (how ; 
And as a Pilgrim's Eye, 
Far from reliefe, 
Meafures the melancholy fkye, 

Then drops, and rains for griefe, 

3- 
So figh'd I upwards ftill ; at laft, 

'Twixt fleps and falls^ 
I reach'd the pinacle, where plac'd 



22 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

I found a paire of fcales ; 
I took them up, and layd 

In th' one late paines ; 

The other fmoake and pleafures weigh'd, 

But prov'd the heavier graines. 

4- 
With that fome cryed, Away ; ftraight I 

ObeyM, and led 
Full Eaft, a faire, frefh field could fpy ; 
Some call'd it Jacob's Bed ; 
A virgin foile, which no 

Rude feet ere trod ; 
Where, fince He ftept there, only go 

Prophets and friends of God. 

5- 
Here I repos'd ; but fcarce well fet 
A grove defcryed 
Of {lately height, whofe branches met 
And mixt on every fide ; 
I entred, and, once in, 

(Amaz'd to fee't,) 
Found all was chang'd, and a new fpring 
Did all my fenfes greet. 

6. 

The unthrift Sunne fhot vitall gold 
A thoufand peeces, 
And heaven its azure did unfold, 

Chequer'd with fnowie fleeces. 
The aire was all in fpice, 
And every bufh 
A garland wore ; thus fed my Eyes, 
But all the Eare lay hufh. 




OR SACRED FOEMS. 

7- 

Only a little Fountain lent 

Some ufe for Eares, 
And on the dumbe ihades language fpent, 
The mufick of her teares ; 
I drew her neare, and found 
The Ciflerne full 
Of divers (tones, fome bright and round, 
Others ill-fhap'd and dull. 

8. 
The firft (pray marke,) as quick as light 

Danc'd through the floud ; 
But th' lait, more heavy than the night, 
Nail'd to the centre flood ; 
I wonder'd much, but tyr'd 
At laft with thought, 
My reftlefs Eye, that ftill defir'd, 

As ftrange an objecl: brought. 

9- 

It was a banke of flowers, where I defcried 
(Though 'twas mid-day,) 
Some faft afleepe, others broad-eyed 
And taking in the ray ; 
Here muling long I heard 
A rufhing wind, 
Which ftill increas'd, but whence it ftirr'd, 
No where I could not find. 

10. 

I turn'd me round, and to each fhade 
Difpatch'd an Eye, 
To fee if any leafe had made 

Leaft motion or reply ; 



23 



24 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

But while I, liflning, fought 
My mind to eafe 
By knowing, where 'twas, or where not, 
It whifper'd ; Where I pleafe. 

Lord, then faid I, On me one breathy 
And let me dye before my death ! 

Cant. cap. 4. ver. 17. 
A rife, O North, and come thou South-wind ; and 
blow upon my garden, that the fpices thereof may flow 
out. 



Death. A Dialogue. 

Soule. 
-IS a fad Land, that in one day 
Hath duli'd thee thus, when death mall 
freeze 

Thy bloud to Ice, and thou mull flay 
Tenant for Yeares and Centuries ; 
How wilt thou brook't ? — 




Body. 
I cannot tell; 

But if all fence wings not with thee, 
And fomething ftill be left the dead, 
Tie wifh my Curtaines off, to free 
Me from fo darke and fad a bed ; 

A neft of nights, a gloomie fphere, 
Where fhadowes thicken, and the Cloud 
Sits on the Sun's brow all the yeare, 
And nothing moves without a fhrowd. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 25 

Soule. 
'Tis fo : but as thou faweft that night 
Wee traveled in, our firft attempts 
Were dull and blind, but Cuftome ftraight 
Our fears and falls brought to contempt. 

Then, when the ghaftly twelve was paft, 
We breath'd (till for a blufhing Eaft, 
And bad the lazie Sunne make hafte, 
And on fure hopes, though long, did feafl. 

But when we faw the Clouds to crack, 
And in thofe cranies light appear'd, 
We thought the day then was not flack, 
And pleas'd our felves with what wee feared. 

Juft fo it is in death. But thou 
Shalt in thy mother's bofome fleepe, 
Whilft I each minute grone to know 
How neere Redemption creepes. 

Then fhall wee meet to mixe again, and met, 
'Tis lafh good-night; our Sunne fhall never fet. 

Job, cap. 10. ver. 21, 22. 
Before I goe whence I Jball not returne, even to 
the land of darknejfe and the Jhadow of death ; 

A Land of darknejfe, as darknejfe itfelfe ; and oj 
the Jhadow of death, without any order, and where 
the light is as darknejfe. 




26 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



Refurredtion and Immortality : 

Heb. cap. 10. ver. 20. 
By that new, and living way, which he hath pre- 
pared for us, through the veile, which is his Jlejh. 

Body. 

I. 

FT have I feen, when that renewing breath 
That binds and loofens death 
Infpir'd a quickning power through the dead 
Creatures abed, 
Some drowfie filk-worme creepe 
From that long fleepe, 
And in weake, infant hummings chime, and knell 

About her filent cell. 
Until at laft, full with the vitall ray, 
She wing'd away, 
And, proud with life and fence, 

Heaven's rich Expence, 
Efteem'd (vaine things !) of two whole Elements 

As meane, and fpan-extents. 
Shall I then thinke fuch providence will be 
LeiTe friend to me ? 
Or that he can endure to be unjufl 
Who keeps his Covenant even with our dull. 

Sou/e. 
2. 
Poore querulous hand full ! was't for this 
I taught thee all that is ? 



OR SACRED POEMS. 27 

Unbowel'd nature, fhew'd thee her recruits, 
And change of Tints, 
And how of death we make 
A meere miftake; 
For no thing can to Nothing fall, but Hill 

Incorporates by fkill, 
And then returns, and from the wombe of things 
Such treafure brings, 
As Pbenix-Wkz renew'th 

Both life, and youth ; 
For a preferving fpirit doth flill pafTe 

Untainted through this Marie, 
Which doth refolve, produce, and ripen all 
That to it fall; 
Nor are thofe births, which we 
Thus fufFering fee, 
Deftroy'd at all ; But when time's refllefs wave 
Their fubftance doth deprave, 
And the more noble EJfence finds his houfe 
Sickly and loofe, 
He, ever young, doth wing 
Unto that fpring, 
And four re of fpirits, where he takes his lot, 

Till time no more mall rot 
His paflive Cottage ; which (though laid aflde,) 

Like fome fpruce Bride, 
Shall one day rife, and, cloath'd with ihining light, 
All pure and bright, 
Re-marry to the foule, for 'tis mofl plaine 
Thou only fal'fl to be refln'd againe. 

3- 
Then I that here faw darkly in a glafle 

But mills and fhadows pafTe, 



28 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

And, by their owne weake Shin%, did fearch the fprings 
And Courfe of things, 
Shall with inlightned rayes 

Pierce all their wayes ; 
And as thou faw'ft, I in a thought could goe 

To heav'n or Earth below, 
To reade fome Starre, or Minrall, and in State 
There often fate ; 
So fhalt thou then with me, 

Both wing'd and free, 
Rove in that mighty and eternall light, 
Where no rude made, or night 
Shall dare approach us ; we shall there no more 
Watch liars, or pore 
Through melancholly clouds, and fay, 
Would it were Day ! 
One everlafling Saboth there fliall runne 
Without SucceJJion, and without a Sunne. 

Dan. cap. 12. ver. 13. 
But goe thou thy way untill the end be : for thou 
Jhalt reft, and ft and up in thy lot at the end of the 
dayes. 



Day of Judgement. 

HEN through the North a fire mall rum 
And rowle into the Eaft, 
And like a fine torrent brum 

And fweepe up South and Weft, — 

When all mail ftreame and lighten round, 

And with furprizing flames 




OR SACRED POEMS. 29 

Both liars and Elements confound, 

And quite blot out their names, — 

When thou malt fpend thy facred flore 

Of thunders in that heate, 

And low as ere they lay before 

Thy fix-dayes' buildings beate,— 

When like a fcrowle the heavens mall pafle 
And vanifh cleane away, 

And nought mull Hand of that vail fpace 

Which held up night and day,— 

When one lowd blafl mail rend the deepe, 

And from the wombe of earth 

Summon up all that are afleepe 

Unto a fecond birth, — 

When thou malt make the Clouds thy feate, 
And in the open aire 

The Quick and dead, both fmall and great, 
Mufl to thy barre repaire ; 

O then it will be all too late 

To fay, Whatjballldo? 
Repentance there is out of date, 

And fo is mercy too. 

Prepare, prepare me then, O God ; 

And let me now begin 
To feele my loving Father's Rod 

Killing the man of iinne. 

Give me, O give me CrofTes here, 

Still more afflictions lend ; 



3 o SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

That pill, though bitter, is moil deare 

That brings health in the end. 

Lord, God ! I beg nor friends, nor wealth, 

But pray againft them both ; 
Three things I'de have, my foule's chief health, 
And one of thefe femes loath, 

A living Faith, a Heart of flefh, 

The World an Enemie ; 

This laft will keepe the firft two frefh, 

And bring me where I'de be* 

I Pet. 4. 7. 

Now the end of all things is at hand; be you 
therefore fober, and watching in prayer, 



Religion. 

Y God, when I walke in thofe groves 
And leaves thy Spirit doth ftill fan, 
I fee in each fhade that the^e growes 
An Angell talking with a man. 

Under a Juniper fome houfe, 
Or the coole Mirtle*s canopie, 
Others beneath an Oake's green boughs, 
Or at fome fountain e's bubling Eye. 

Here Jacob dreames, and wreftles ; there 
Elias by a Raven is fed, 
Another time by th' Angell, where 
He brings him water with his bread. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 31 

In Abraham's Tent the winged guelts 
(O how familiar then was heaven !) 
Eate, drinke, difcourfe, lit downe, and reft 
Until the coole and fhady Even. 

Nay thou thy felfe, my God, in fire, 
Whirle-winds, and Clouds, and the foft voice, 
Speak'lt there fo much, that I admire 
We have no Conference in thefe daies. 

Is the truce broke ? or 'caufe we have 
A Mediatour now with thee, 
Doft thou therefore old Treaties wave, 
And by appeales from him decree ? 

Or is't fo, as fome green heads fay, 
That now all miracles mull ceafe ? 
Though thou -hall promis'd they Ihould ftay, 
The tokens of the Church and peace. 

No, no ; Religion is a Spring, 
That from fome fecret, golden Mine 
Derives her birth, and thence doth bring 
Cordials in every drop, and Wine. 

But in her long, and hidden Courfe, 
In paffing through the Earth's darke veines, 
Growes ftill from better unto worfe, 
And both her tafte and colour Haines ; 

Then drilling on learnes to encreafe 
Falfe E echoes and confufed founds* 
And unawares doth often feize 
On veines of Sulphur under ground ; 



32 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

So poifon'd breaks forth in fome Clime, 
And at firft fight doth many pleafe ; 
But drunk, is puddle or meere ilime, 
And 'Head of Phifick, a difeafe. 

Juft fuch a tainted fink we have, 
Like that Samaritan's dead well ; 
Nor muft we for the Kernell crave 
Becaufe moft voices like the JhelL 

Heale then thefe waters, Lord ; or bring thy flock, 
Since thefe are troubled, to the fpringing rock ; 
Looke downe, great Matter of the feaft ; O fhine, 
And turn once more our Water into Wine ! 

Cant. cap. 4. ver. 12. 
My fifter, my fpoufe, is as a garden inclofed, as a 
fpring Jhut up, and a fountain fe ale d up. 



The Search. 

elS now cleare day : I fee a Rofe 
Bud in the bright Eaft, and difclofe 
The Pilgrim-Sunne ; all night have I 
Spent in a roving Extafie 
To find my Saviour ; I have been 
As far as Betblem, and have feen 
His Inne and Cradle ; being there 
I met the Wife- Men, afkt them where 
He might be found, or what flarre can 
Now point him out, grown up a Man ? 




OR SACRED POEMS. 33 

To Egypt hence I fled, ran o're 

All her parcht bofome to Nile's fhore, 

Her yearly nurfe; came back, enquir'd 

Amongll the Doclors, and delir'd 

To fee the Temple, but was mown 

A little dull, and for the Town 

A heap of ames, where fome fed 

A fmall bright fparkle was abed, 

Which would one day (beneath the pole), 

Awake, and then refine the whole. 

Tyr'd here, I came to Sychar ; thence 
To Jacob's well, bequeathed Jince 
Unto his fonnes, where often they 
In thofe calme, golden evenings lay 
Watring their flocks, and having fpent 
Thofe white dayes, drove home to the tent 
Their well-fleeced traine ; And here (O fate !) 
I lit, where once my Saviour fate. 
The angry Spring in bubbles fwell'd, 
Which broke in fighes Hill, as they fill'd, 
And whifper'd, Jefus had been there, 
But Jacobs children would not heare. 
Loath hence to part, at lafl I rife 
But with the fountain in mine Eyes, 
And here a frelh fearch is decreed ; 
He mull be found where he did bleed. 
I walke the garden, and there fee 
Idaas of his Agonie, 
And moving anguifhments, that fet 
His blefb face in a bloudy fweat; 
I climbed the Hill, perus'd the CrofTe, 
Hung with my gaine, and his great lolfe : 
Never did tree beare fruit like this, 
Balfam of foules, the bodye's blifle. 

D 



34 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

But, O his grave ! where I faw lent 

(For he had none,) a Monument, 

An undefil'd, a new-hew'd one, 

But there was not the Corner-ftone. 

Sure then, faid I, my Quell is vaine, 

Hee'll not be found where he was flaine ; 

So mild a Lamb can never be 

'Midft fo much bloud and crueltie. 

I'll to the wildernefs, and can 

Find beails more mercifull than man ; 

He liv'd there fafe, 'twas his retreat 

From the fierce Jew, and Herod's heat ; 

And forty dayes with Hood the fell 

And high temptations of hell ; 

With Seraphins there talked he, 

His father's flaming miniftrie ; 

He heav'nd their walks, and with his eyes 

Made thofe wild (hades a Paradife. 

Thus was the defert fanclified 

To be the refuge of his bride. 

He thither then ; fee, It is day ! 

The Sun's broke through to guide my way. 

But as I urg'd thus, and writ down 
What pleafures mould my Journey crown, 
What filent paths, what fhades, and cells, 
Faire virgin -flowers, and hallo w'd Wells 
I mould rove in, and reft my head 
Where my deare Lord did often tread, 
Sugring all dangers with fuccefTe, 
Methought I heard one Tinging thus ; 



Leave, leave thy gadding thoughts ; 
who pores 



OR SACRED POEMS. 35 

and fpies 
Still out of Doores, 

defcries 
Within them nought. 

2. 
The fkinne and fhell of things, 
though faire, 
are not 
Thy wifh, nor Pray'r, 

but got 
By meere Defpaire 
of wings. 

3- 

To rack old Elements, 

or Dull ; 

and fay, 
Sure here he mull 

needs Hay, 
Is not the way, 

nor jufl. 

Search well another world ; who fludies this, 
Travels in Clouds, feekes Manna where none is. 

Adls,'cap. 17. ver. 27, 28. 
That they Jbould feeke the Lord, if haply they 
might feel after him y and finde him, though he be 
not far off from every one of us, for in him we live, 
and move, and have our being. 



2,6 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



Ifaacs Marriage. 

Gen. cap. 24. ver. 63. 







And Ifaac went out to pray in the field at the 
Even- tide, and he lift up his eyes, and Jaw, and be- 
hold, the Camels were coming, 

RAYING ! and to be married ! It was rare, 
But now 'tis monftrous ; and that pious 
care, 

Though of ourfelves, is fo much out of date, 
That to renew't were to degenerate. 
But thou a chofen facrifice wert given, 
And offer'd up fo early unto heaven, 
Thy flames could not be out ; Religion was 
Ray'd into thee like beames into a glalTe ; 
Where, as thou grewft, it multiply'd, and fhin'd 
The facred Conflellation of thy mind. 

But being for a bride, prayer was fuch 
A decryed courfe, fure it prevaiPd not much. 
Had' ft ne'r an Oath, nor Complement ? thou wert 
An odde, dull futor ; hadft thou but the art 
Of thefe our dayes, thou couldft have coyn'd thee 

twenty 
New fev'rall oathes, and complements too plenty. 
O fad and wild excefle ! and happy thofe 
White dayes, that durfl no impious mirth expofe : 
When Confcience by lewd ufe had not loft fenfe, 
Nor bold-fac'd cuftome banifh'd Innocence ! 
Thou hadft no pompous traine, nor Antick crowd 
Of young, gay fwearers, with their needlefs, lowd 



OR SACRED POEMS. 37 

Retinue; All was here fmooth as thy bride, 

And calme like her, or that mild Evening-tide. 

Yet hadft thou nobler guefts : Angels did wind, 

And rove about thee, guardians of thy mind ; 

Thefe fetch'd thee home thy bride, and all the way 

Advis'd thy fervant what to do and fay ; 

Thefe taught him at the Well, and thither brought 

The chafte and lovely object of thy thought. 

But here was ne'r a complement, not one 

Spruce, fupple cringe, or ftudy'd look put on. 

All was plaine, modefl truth: Nor did fhe come 

In Rowles and Curies, mincing and ftately dumbe ; 

But in a Virgin's native blufh and fears 

Frefh as thofe rofes, which the day-fpring wears. 

O fweet, divine fimplicity ! O grace 

Beyond a curled lock, or painted face ! 

A Pitcher too fhe had, nor thought it much 

To carry that, which fome would fcorn to touch ; 

With which in mild, chafte language ihe did wooe 

To draw him drinke, and for his Camels too. 

And now thou knewft her comming, it was time 
To get thee wings on, and devoutly climbe 
Unto thy God ; for Marriage of all ftates 
Makes moft unhappy, or moil fortunates. 
This brought thee forth, where now thou didft un- 

drefs 
Thy foul, and with new pinions refrefh 
Her wearied wings, which, fo reftor'd, did flye 
Above the ftars, a track unknown and high ; 
And in her piercing flight perfum'd the ayre, 
Scatt'ring the Myrrbe and Incenfe of thy pray'r. 
So from Labai-ro? s* Well fome fpicie cloud, 

* A ivel in the South Country where Jacob dwelt, betiveene 
Cadefh, &f Bered j Heb. the wel of him that Iivetb andfeeth me. 



38 SILEX SCINT1LLANS, 

Woo'd by the Sun, fwels up to be his fhrowd, 
And from her moift wombe weeps a fragrant fhowre, 
Which, fcatter'd in a thoufand pearls, each flowre 
And herb partakes ; where having flood awhile, 
And fomething cool'd the parch' d and thirflie Ifle, 
The thankfull Earth unlocks her felfe, and blends 
A thoufand odours, which, all mixt, fhe fends 
Up in one cloud, and fo returnes the ikies 
That dew they lent, a breathing facrifice. 

Thus foar'd thy foul, who, though young, didft 
inherit 
Together with his bloud thy father's fpirit, 
Whofe active zeal and tried faith were to thee 
Familiar ever fince thy Infancie. 
Others were tym'd and train'd up to't, but thou 
Didft thy fwift years in piety out-grow. 
Age made them rev'rend and a fnowie head, 
But thou wert fo, e're time his fnow could fhed. 
Then who would truly limne thee out muft paint 
Firfl a young Patriarch, then a marry* d Saint. 



The Brittifti Church. 

*H ! he is fled ! 
And while thefe here their mifts and fba- 
dowes hatch, 
My glorious Head 
Doth on thofe hills of Myrrhe and Incenfe watch. 
Hafle, hafle, my dear ! 
The Souldiers here 
Call in their lotts againe. 
That feamleffe coat, 







OR SACRED POEMS. 39 

The Iewes touch'd not, 
Thefe dare divide and ftain. 

2. 

O get thee wings ! 
Or if as yet, until thefe clouds depart, 

And the day fprings, 
Thou think'ft it good to tarry where thou art, 

Write in thy bookes, 

My raviih'd looks, 
Slain flock, and pillag'd fleeces ; 

And hafte thee fo, 

As a young Roe 
Upon the mounts of fpices. 

O Rofa Campi! O Lilium Conv allium I quomodo 
nunc fa 51 a es pabulum Apr or urn! 



The Lampe. 




pIS dead night round about : Horrour doth 
creepe 
And move on with the fhades ; liars nod 
and fleepe, 
And through the dark aire fpin a firie thread, 
Such as doth gild the lazie glow-worm's bed. 

Yet burn'ft thou here a full day, while I fpend 
My reft in cares, and to the dark world lend 
Thefe flames, as thou doft thine tome; I watch 
That houre, which mull thy life and mine difpatch 
But ftill thou doeft out-goe me, I can fee 
Met in thy flames all acts of piety ; 



4 o SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thy light, is Charity ; Thy heat, is Zeale / 
And thy afpiring, active fires reveale 
Devotion ftill on wing ; Then, thou doft weepe 
Still as thou burn'ft, and the warme droppings creepe 
To meafure out thy length, as if thou'dft know 
What llock, and how much time were left thee now ; 
Nor doft thou fpend one teare in vain, for ftill 
As thou difTolv'ft to them, and they diftill, 
They're ftor'd up in the focket, where they lye, 
When all is fpent, thy laft and fure fupply : 
And fuch is true repentance ; ev'ry breath 
Wee fpend in ilghes is treafure after death. 
Only one point efcapes thee ; That thy Oile 
Is ftill out with thy flame, and fo both faile ; 
But whenfoe're I'm out, both fhal be in, 
And where thou mad'ft an end, there I'll begin. 

Mark, cap. 13. ver. 35. 
Watch you therefore, for you know not when the 
mafter of the houfe cometh, at Even, or at Mid-night, 
or at the Cock-crowing, or in the Morning. 



Man's fall and Recovery. 

gg ARE WELL, you Everlafting hills ! I'm caft 

Here under clouds, where ftormes and 

temped s blaft 

This fully'd flowre, 

Robb'd of your calme ; nor can I ever make, 

Tranfplanted thus, one leafe of his t' awake; 

But ev'ry houre 
He fleepes and droops ; and in this drowfie Hate 




OR SACRED POEMS. 41 

Leaves me a flave to paffions and my fate, 

Befides I've loft 
A traine of lights, which in thofe Sun-mine dayes 
Were my fure guides ; and only with me ftayes, 

Unto my coft, 
One fullen beame, whofe charge is to difpenfe 
More punifhment than knowledge to my fenfe. 

Two thoufand yeares 
I fojourn'd thus. At laft Jejhururfs King 
Thofe famous tables did from Sinai bring. 

Thefe fwell'd my feares, 
Guilts, trefpaiTes, and all this Inward Awe ; 
For iinne tooke ftrength and vigour from the Law. 

Yet have I found 
A plenteous way, (thanks to that Holy One !) 
To cancell all that e're was writ in itone. 

1 His faving wound 
Wept bloud that broke this Adamant, and gave 
To iinners Confidence, life to the grave. 

This makes me fpan 
My fathers' journeys, and in one faire ftep 
O're all their pilgrimage and labours leap. 

For God, made man, 
Reduc'd th' extent of works of faith ; fo made 
Of their Red Sea a Spring : I warn, they wade. 

Rom. cap. 5. ver. 19. 
As by the offence of one, the fault came on all men 
to condemnation s So by the Righteoufnefs of one, the 
benefit abounded towards all men to the Jujlification 
of life. 



42 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 



The Showre. 



=£J>WAS fo ; I faw thy birth. That drowfie 
Lake 



^^^^ From her faint bofome breath'd thee, the 

difeafe 
Of her lick waters, and infectious Eafe. 
But now at even, 
Too grofTe for Heaven, 
Thou fall'ft in teares, and weep'ft for thy millake. 



2. 

Ah ! it is fo with me ; oft have I preft 
Heaven with a lazie breath ; but fruitles this 
Pierc'd not ; Love only can with quick acceife 

Unlock the way, 

When all elfe ftray, 
The fmoke and exhalations of the brelt. 

3- 
Yet if, as thou doeft melt, and, with thy traine 
Of drops, make foft the Earth, my eyes could weep 
O're my hard heart, that's bound up and afleep, 
Perhaps at laft, 
Some fuch fhowres pari:, 
My God would give a Sun-mine after raine. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 43 



Diftradlion. 

KNIT me, that am crumbled dull : the 
he ape 

Is all difpers'd and cheape ; 
Give for a handfull but a thought, 
And it is bought. 
Hadft thou 
Made me a flarre, a pearle, or a rain-bow, 
The beames I then had fhot 
My light had lefTend not ; 
But now 
I find myfelfe the leiTe the more I grow. 

The world 
Is full of voices ; Man is call'd, and hurl'd 
By each ; he anfwers all, 
Knows ev'ry note and call ; 
Hence ftill 
Frefh dotage tempts, or old ufurps his will. 
Yet hadfl thou dipt my wings, when coffin'd in 
This quicken'd malTe of finne, 
And faved that light, which freely thou 
Didft then bellow, 
I feare 
I Ihould have fpurn'd, and faid thou didft forbeare, 
Or that thy llore was lefle ; 
But now lince thou didft blelTe 
So much, 
I grieve, my God ! that thou hall made me fuch. 

I grieve? 
O, yes ! thou know'ft I doe ; come, and relieve, 



44 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

And tame and keepe downe with thy light, 
Dull that would rife and dimme my light ! 
Left left alone too long 
Amid ft the noife and throng, 
OpprefTed I, 
Striving to lave the whole, by parcells dye. 



The Purfuite. 

| ORD ! what a bufie reftlefs thing 

Haft thou made man ! 
Each day and houre he is on wing, 

Re lis not a fpan. 
Then having loft the Sunne and light, 

By clouds furpriz'd, 
He keepes a Commerce in the night 

With aire difguis'd. 
Hadft thou given to this active dull 

A Hate untir'd, 
The loft Sonne had not left the hulke, 

Nor home deflr'd. 
That was thy fecret, and it is 

Thy mercy too ; 
For when all failes to bring to blilfe, 

Then this mull doe. 
Ah ! Lord ! and what a Purchafe will that be, 
To take us fick, that found would not take thee ! 





OR SACRED POEMS, 45 



Mount of Olives. 

WEETE, facred hill ! on whofe fair brow 
My Saviour fate, fhall I allow 
Language to love 
And idolize fome fhade or grove. 
Neglecting thee ? fuch ill-plac'd wit, 
Conceit, or call it what you pleafe, 
Is the braine's fit, 
And meere difeafe. 

2. 

Cotfwold and Cooper's both have met 
With learned fwaines, and eccho yet 

Their pipes, and wit ; 
But thou fleep'ft in a deepe neglect, 
Untouch'd by any ; and what need 
The fheep bleat thee a filly Lay, 

That heard'ft both reed 

And fheepward play ? 

3- 

Yet if Poets mind thee well, 
They fhall find thou art their hill, 

And fountaine too : 
Their Lord with thee had moll to doe ; 
He wept once, walked whole nights on thee ; 
And from thence (his fufierings ended,) 

Unto glorie 

Was attended. 



46 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

4- 

Being there, this fpacious ball 

Is but his narrow footftoole all ; 
And what we thinke 
Unfearchable, now with one winke 
He doth comprife. But in this aire 
When he did flay to beare our 111 
And Sinne, this Hill 
Was then his Chaire* 



The Incarnation and Paffion. 



ORD ! when thou didft thyfelfe undreffe, 
Laying by thy robes of glory, 
To make us more thou would ft be lefle, 
And becam'ft a wofull ftory. 




To put on clouds inftead of light* 
And cloath the morning-ftarre with duft, 
Was a tranflation of fuch height 
As, but in thee, was ne'r expreft. 

Brave wormes and earth ! that thus could have 
A God enclos'd within your cell, 
Your Maker pent up in a grave, 
Life lockt in death, heav'n in a fhelL 

Ah, my deare Lord ! what couldft thou fpye 
In this impure, rebellious clay, 
That made thee thus refolve to dye 
For thofe that kill thee every day ? 







OR SACRED POEMS. 47 

O what ftrange wonders could thee move 
To flight thy precious bloud and breath ? 
Sure it was Love, my Lord ; for Love 
Is only ftronger far than death ! 



The Call. 

OME, my heart ! come, my head, 
In fighes, and teares ! 
'Tis now, fince you have laine thus dead, 
Some twenty years. 
Awake, awake, 
Some pitty take 
Upon your felves ! 
Who never wake to grone nor weepe, 
Shall be fentenc'd for their fleepe. 

2. 

Doe but fee your fad eftate, 

How many fands 
Have left us, while we careles fate 

With folded hands; 

What flock of nights., 

Of dayes, and yeares, 

In filent flights 

Stole by our eares ; 
How ill have we our felves beftow'd, 
Whofe funs are all fet in a cloud ! 

3- 
Yet, come, and let's perufe them all ; 
And, as we paffe, 




48 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

What fins on every minute fall 

Score on the glafTe ; 
Then weigh and rate 
Their heavy Hate, 
Untill 
The glafle with teares you fill ; 
That done, we ihall be fafe and good : 
Thofe beafls w r ere cleane that chew'd the cud. 



f [Early Death.] 

HOU that know'ft for whom I mourne, 

And why thefe teares appeare, 
That keep'ft account till he returne 

Of all his duft left here ; 
As eafily thou mightft prevent, 

As now produce, thefe teares, 
And adde unto that day he went 

A faire fupply of yeares. 
But 'twas my flnne that forc'd thy hand 

To cull this Prim-rofe out, 
That, by thy early choice forewarn'd, 

My foule might looke about. 
O what a vanity is man ! 

How like the eye's quick winke 
His cottage failes, whofe narrow fpan 

Begins even at the brink ! 
Nine months thy hands are fafhioning us, 

And many yeares alas ! 
E're we can lifp, or ought difcufTe 

Concerning thee, muft paffe ; 
Yet have I knowne thy flighteft things, 

A Feather, or a Shelly 



OR SACRED POEMS. 49 

A Stick, or Rod, which fome chance brings, 

The beft of us excell. 
Yea, I have knowne thefe fhreds outlaft 

A faire-compadled frame, 
And for one Twenty we have paft 

Almoft outlive our name. 
Thus haft thou plac'd in man's outfide 

Death to the common eye, 
That heaven within him might abide, 

And clofe eternitie. 
Hence youth and folly, man's firft fliame, 

Are put unto the flaughter, 
And ferious thoughts begin to tame 

The wife man's madnefs, Laughter. 
Dull, wretched wormes ! that would not keepe 

Within our firft faire bed, 
But out of Paradife muft creepe, 

For ev'ry foote to tread ! 
Yet had our Pilgrimage bin free, 

And fmooth without a thorne, 
Pleafures had foil'd Eternitie, 

And Tares had choakt the Come. 
Thus by the CroiTe, Salvation runnes ; 

Affliction is a mother, 
Whofe painfull throes yield many fons, 

Each fairer than the other. 
A filent Teare can pierce thy throne, 

When lowd Joyes want a wing ; 
And fweeter aires ftreame from a grone, 

Than any arted firing. 
Thus, Lord, I fee my gaine is great, 

My loffe but little to it ; 
Yet fomething more I muft intreate, 

And only thou canft doe it. 



5 o SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

O let me, like him, know my End, 

And be as glad to find it ; 
And whatfoe'r thou malt commend, 

Still let thy fervant mind it. 
Then make my foule white as his owne, 

My faith as pure and iteddy, 
And deck me, Lord, with the fame Crowne 

Thou hast crownd him already ! 



Vanity of Spirit. 

|UITE fpent with thoughts I left my Cell, 
and lay 
Where a fhrill fpring tun'd to the early day. 

I beg'd here long, and gron'd to know 

Who gave the clouds fo brave a bow, 

Who bent the fpheres, and circled in 

Corruption with this glorious Ring ; 

What is his name, and how I might 

Defcry fome part of his great light. 
I fummon'd nature ; pierc'd through all her ftore ; 
Broke up fome feales, which none had touch'd before; 

Her worn be, her bofome, and her head, 

Where all her fecrets lay abed, 

I rifled quite, and having paft 

Through all the creatures, came at laft 

To fearch myfelfe, where I did find 

Traces and founds of a ftrange kind. 
Here of this mighty fpring I found fome rills, 
With ecchoes beaten from th' eternall hills. 

Weake beames and fires flafh'd to my fight, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 

Like a young Eaft, or Moone-fhine Night, 
Which fhew'd me in a nook call by 
A peece of much antiquity, 
With Hieroglyphicks quite difmembred, 
And broken letters fcarce remembred. 
I tooke them up, and (much joy'd,) went about 
T' unite thofe peeces, hoping to find out 
The my fiery ; but this neer done, 
That little light I had was gone. 
It griev'd me much. At lafl, faid I, 
Since in thefe veyls my ecclips^d Eye 
May not approach thee, (for at night 
Who can have commerce with the light ?) 
Fie difapparell, and to buy 
But one half glaunce moft gladly dye. 



The Retreate. 

^APPY thofe early dayes, when I 
Shin'd in my Angell-infancy ! 
Before I underftood this place 
Appointed for my fecond race, 
Or taught my foul to fancy ought 
fiut a white, celeftiall thought ; 
When yet I had not walkt above 
A mile or two from my firft Love, 
And looking back, at that fhort fpace, 
Could fee a glimpfe of his bright face ; 
When on fome gilded Cloud or Flowre 
My gazing foul would dwell an houre, 




52 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

And in thofe weaker glories fpy 
Some fhadows of eternity ; 
Before I taught my tongue to wound 
My confcience with a finfull found, 
Or had the black art to difpence 
A fev'rall finne to ev'ry fence, 
But felt through all this flefhly dreffe 
Bright Jhootes of everlaftingneffe. 
O how I long to travell back, 
And tread again that ancient track ! 
That I might once more reach that plaine, 
Where flrft I left my glorious traine ; 
From whence th' inlightned fpirit fees 
That fhady City of Palme trees. 
But ah ! my foul with too much flay 
Is drunk, and ftaggers in the way ! 
Some men a forward motion love, 
But I by backward fteps would move ; 
And, when this duft falls to the urn, 
In that ftate I came, return. 



f [Abfence.] 

^§OME, come ! what doe I here ? 

Since he is gone, 
^ Each day is grown a dozen year, 

And each houre one. 

Come, come ! 
Cut off the fum 
By thefe foil'd tears ! 
(Which only thou 
Know'ft to be true,) 
Dayes are my feares. 








OR SACRED POEMS. 53 

2 
There's not a wind can ftir, 
Or beam pafTe by, 
But ftrait I think, though far, 
Thy hand is nigh. 
Come, come ! 
Strike thefe lips dumb : 
This reftlefs breath, 
That foiles thy name, 
Will ne'r be tame, 
Untill in death. 

3- 

Perhaps fome think a tombe 

No houfe of ftore, 
But a dark and feal'd up wombe, 

Which ne'r breeds more. 

Come, come ! 
Such thoughts benum ; 
But I would be 
With him I weep 
A-bed, and fleep 
To wake in thee. 



f Midnight, 

HEN to my Eyes, 
Whilft deep deep others catches, 
Thine hoft of fpyes, 
The Starres, fhine in their watches, 
I doe furvey 
Each bufie ray, 




54 SILEX SC1NTILLANS, 

And how they work and wind, 
And wifli each beame 
My foul doth ftream 

With the like ardour fhin'd. 
What Emanations, 
Quick Vibrations, 

And bright Stirs are there ! 
What thin Ejections, 
Cold Affedions, 

And flow Motions here ! 



2. 

Thy heav'ns, fome fay, 
Are a firie- liquid light, 

Which, mingling aye, 
Streames and flames thus to the light. 

Come then, my God ! 

Shine on this Bloud 
And Water in one beame ; 

And thou fhalt fee, 

Kindled by thee, 
Both liquors burne and ftreame. 

O what bright quicknefs, 

Active brightnefs, 
And celeftiall flowes, 

Will follow after, 

On that water 
Which thy Spirit blowes ! 

Matth. cap. 3. ver. 11. 
/ indeed baptize you with water unto repentance, 
but he that commeth after me> is mightier than I ; 
whofe Jhooes I am not worthy to beare ; he Jh all bap- 
tize you with the Holy Ghoft, and with fire. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 55 



f Content. 

EACE, peace ! I know 'twas brave ; 
But this coarfe fleece 
I fhelter in, is flave 
To no fuch peece. 
When I am gone, 
I fhall no wardrobes leave 

To friend or fonne, 
But what their own homes weave. 

2. 
Such, though not proud nor full, 

May make them weep, 
And mourn to fee the wooll 

Outlaft the fheep ; 

Poore, pious weare ! 
Hadft thou bin rich, or fine, 

Perhaps that teare 
Had mourn'd thy lolfe, not mine. 

3- 
Why then thefe curl'd, puffed points, 

Or a laced ftory ? 
Death lets all out of joint, 

And fcornes their glory. 

Some Love a Rofe 
In hand, fome in the fkin ; 

But, croffe to thofe, 
I would have mine within. 




56 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 



f [Stars.] 

OY of my life while left me here ! 
And (till my Love ! 
How in thy abfence thou doft fleere 
Me from above ! 
A life well led 
This truth commends ; 
With quick or dead 
It never ends. 

2. 
Stars are of mighty ufe. The night 

Is dark, and long ; 
The Rode foul ; and where one goes right, 

Six may go wrong. 

One twinkling ray, 

Shot o'er fome cloud, 

May clear much way, 

And guide a croud. 

3- 

God's Saints are mining lights : who flays 

Here long mull paife 
O're dark hills, fwift flreames, and fleep ways 

As fmooth as glafle ; 

But thefe all night, 

Like Candles, fhed 

Their beams, and light 

Us into Bed, 

4- 
They are indeed our Pillar-fires, 
Seen as we go ; 




OR SACRED POEMS. S 7 

They are that Citie's fhining fpires 
We travell to. 
A fwordlike gleame 
Kept man for fin 
Firft Out: this beame 
Will guide him In. 



The Storm. 

SEE the ufe ; and know my bloud 

Is not a Sea, 
But a fhallow, bounded floud, 
Though red as he ; 
Yet have I flows as ftrong as his, 

And boyling ftremes that rave 
With the fame curling force, and hifTe 

As doth the mountained wave. 

2. 
But when his waters billow thus, 

Dark florins and wind 
Incite them to that fierce difcufTe, 

Elfe not inclin'd. 
Thus the enlarg'd, inraged air 

Uncalmes thefe to a floud ; 
But Hill the weather that's moil fair 

Breeds tempefts in my bloud. 

3- 
Lord, round me then with weeping clouds, 

And let my mind 
In quick blafts figh beneath thofe fhrouds, 

A fpirit-wind ; 




5 8 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

So fhall that ftorme purge this Reclufe 
Which finfull eafe made foul, 

And wind and water, to thy ufe, 

Both wajh and wing my foul. 



The Morning- watch. 

JOYES ! Infinite Sweetnefs ! with what 
flowres 
And Ihoots of glory my foul breakes and 
buds ! 
All the long houres 
Of night and reft, 
Through the frill fhrouds 
Of fleep and clouds, 
This Dew fell on my breaft ; 
O how it Blouds, 
And Spirits all my Earth ! Heark ! In what Rings 
And Hymning Circulations the quick world 
Awakes and lings ! 
The riling winds, 
And falling fprings, 
Birds, hearts, all things 
Adore him in their kinds. 
Thus all is hurl'd 
In facred Hymnes and Order, the great Chime 
And Symphony of nature. Prayer is 
The world in tune, 
A fpirit-voyce, 
And vocall joyes, 
Whofe Eccho is heav'ns bliffe. 
O let me climbe 



OR SACRED POEMS. 59 

When I lye down. The pious foul by night 

Is like a clouded ftarre, whofe beames, though faid 

To fhed their light 

Under fome cloud, 

Yet are above, 

And fhine and move 
Beyond that miftie fhrowd. 

So in my Bed, 
That curtain'd grave, though fleep, like afhes, hide 
My lamp and life, both mall in thee abide. 



The Evening-watch. 

A Dialogue. 

Body. 
AREWELU ! I goe to fleep ; but, when 
The day-ftar fprings, Tie wake agen. 

Soul. 

Goe, fleep in peace ; and when thou ]ytik 
Unnumber'd in thy duft, when all this frame 
Is but one dramme, and what thou now defcrieft 

In fev'rall parts fhall want a name, 
Then may his peace be with thee, and each dull 
Writ in his book, who ne'r betray'd man's truft. 

Body. 
Amen ! but hark, e'er we two ftray, 
How many hours do ft think 'till day ? 

Soui. 
Ah! go; thou'rt weak, and fleepie. Heav'n 




60 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Is a plain watch, and, without figures, winds 
All ages up ; who drew this circle, even 

He fils it ; dayes and hours are Blinds. 
Yet this take with thee. The laft gafp of time 
Is thy firffc breath, and man's eternall Prime. 



% [Bereavement.] 



^ 



SILENCE and Health of dayes! 'tis now, 
Ap§\?l Since thou art gone, 

^ JS Twelve hundred houres, and not a brow 

But clouds hang on. 
As he that in fome cave's thick damp, 

Lockt from the light, 
Fixeth a folitary lamp, 

To brave the night, 
And, walking from his Sun, when paft 

That glim'ring ray, 
Cuts through the heavy mills in hafte 

Back to his day ; 
So o'er fled minutes I retreat 

Unto that hour, 
Which fhew'd thee laft, but did defeat 

Thy light and pow'r. 
I fearch and rack my foul to fee 

Thofe beams again ; 
But nothing but the fnuff to me 

Appeareth plain. 
That, dark and dead, fleeps in its known 

And common urn ; 
But thofe, fled to their Maker's throne, 

There mine and burn. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 61 

O could I track them ! but fouls mult 

Track one the other ; 
And now the Spirit, not the dull, 

Mull be thy brother. 
Yet I have one Pearle, by whofe light 

All things I fee ; 
And in the heart of Earth and night 

Find Heaven and thee. 



Church-Service. 

r^^LEST be the God of Harmony and Love ! 
The God above ! 
And holy Dove ! 
Whofe interceding, fpirituall grones 

Make refllefs mones 
For dull and Hones ; 
For dull in every part, 
But a hard, ilonie heart. 

2. 

O how in this thy Quire of Souls I Hand, 
Propt by thy hand, 
A heap of fand 
Which bulie thoughts, like winds, would fcatter quite^ 
And put to flight, 
But for thy might ; 
Thy hand alone doth tame 
Thofe blalls, and knit my frame ; 

3- 

So that both Hones, and dull, and all of me 
Jointly agree 
To cry to thee ; 




62 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

And in this Mufick, by thy Martyrs' bloud 
Seal'd and made good, 
Prefent, O God, 

The eccho of thefe flones ; 

My fighes, and grones ! 



Buriall. 

THOU ! the firft fruits of the dead, 

And their dark bed, 
When I am call into that deep 
And fenfelefs fleep, 
The wages of my finne, 
O then, 
Thou great Preferver of all men, 
Watch o're that loofe 
And empty houfe, 
Which I fometime liv'd in ! 



2. 
It is in truth a ruin'd peece, 

Not worth thy eyes ; 
And fcarce a room, but wind and rain 
Beat through and flain 
The feats, and cells within ; 
Yet thou, 
Led by thy Love, would ft- (loop thus low, 
And in this cott, 
All filth, and fpott, 
Didfl with thy fervant inne. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 63 

3- 
And nothing can, I hourely fee, 

Drive thee from me. 
Thou art the fame, faithfull and juft, 
In life or dull. 
Though then, thus crumm'd, I llray 
In blafls, 
Or exhalations, and wails 

Beyond all eyes, 
Yet thy love fpies 
That change, and knows thy Clay. 

4- 

The world's thy boxe : how then, there toll, 

Can I be loll ? 
But the delay is all ; Tyme now 
Is old and flow ; 
His wings are dull and lickly. 
Yet he 
Thy fervant is, and waits on thee. 
Cutt then the fumme, 
Lord, halte, Lord, come, 
O come, Lord Jefus, quickly ! 

Rom. cap. 8. ver. 23. 
And not only they, but our f elves alfo, which have 
the firft fruits of the fpirit, even wee our f elves gr one 
within our felves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, 
the redemption of our body. 





64 SILEX SCINT1LLANS, 



Chearfulnefs. 



ORD, with what courage and delight 
I doe each thing, 
When thy leaf! breath fuftaines my wing ! 
I mine and move 
Like thofe above, 
And, with much gladneiTe 
Quitting fadneife, 
Make me faire dayes of every night. 

2. 
Affliction thus meere pleafure is ; 

And hap what will, 
If thou be in't, 'tis welcome ftill. 

But fince thy rayes 

In funnie dayes 

Thou doft thus lend, 

And freely fpend, 
Ah ! what lhail I return for this ? 

3- 
O that I were all Soul ! that thou 

Would ft make each part 
Of this poor finfull frame pure heart ! 

Then would I drown 

My lingle one ; 

And to thy praife 

A Concert raife 
Of Hallelujahs here below. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 65 



f [Diftance.] 

gURE, there's a tye of Bodyes! and as they 
DHTolve with it to Clay, 
Love languifheth, and memory doth ruft, 
O'r-caft with that cold dull ; 
For things thus centered, without Beames or Aflion, 

Nor give, nor take Contagion; 
And man is fuch a Mary gold, thefe fled, 
That fhuts and hangs the head. 

2. 

Abfents within the Line confpire, and Senje 

Things diftant doth unite ; 
Herbs fleep unto the Eaft, and fome fowles thence 

Watch the returns of light. 
But hearts are not fo kind : falfe, fhort delights 

Tell us the world is brave, 
And wrap us in Imaginary flights, 

Wide of a faithfull grave. 

3- 
Thus Lazarus was carried out of town ; 

For 'tis our foe's chief art, 
By diftance all good objects firft to drown, 

And then befiege the heart. 
But I will be my own Deaths-head ; and though 

The flatt'rer fay, / live, 
Becaufe Incertainties we cannot know, 

Be fure not to believe. 




66 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



Peace. 

*Y Soul, there is a Countrie 

Afar beyond the ftars, 
Ss Where Hands a winged Sentrie 

All fkilfull in the wars. 
There, above noife and danger, 

Sweet peace fits, crownM with fmiles, 
And One born in a manger 

Commands the beauteous files. 
He is thy gracious friend 

And (O my Soul awake !) 
Did in pure love defcend, 

To die here for thy fake. 
If thou canft get but thither, 

There growes the flowre of peace, 
The rofe that cannot wither, 

Thy fortrefTe, and thy eafe. 
Leave then thy foolifh ranges ; 

For none can thee fecure, 
But One, who never changes, 

Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure. 



The Paffion. 

MY chief good ! 

My dear, dear God ! 
S When thy bleft bloud 
Did iiTue forth, forc'd by the Rod, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 67 

What pain didft Thou 

Feel in each blow ! 

How didft Thou weep, 

And thy felf fteep 
In thy own precious, faving teares ! 

What cruell fmart 

Did teare thy heart ! 

How didft Thou grone it 

In the fpirit, 
O Thou, whom my foul loves and feares ! 

2. 

Moft bleffed Vine ! 

Whofe juice fo good 

I feel as Wine, 
But thy faire branches felt as bloud, 

How wert thou preft 

To be my feaft ! 

In what deep anguifh 

Didft thou languifh ! 
What fprings of Sweat and bloud did drown thee ! 

How in one path 

Did the full wrath 

Of thy great Father 

Crowd and gather, 
Doubling thy griefs, when none would own thee ! 

3- 

How did the weight 
Of all our finnes, 
And death unite 
To wrench and rack thy blefied limbes ! 
How pale and bloudie 
Lookt thy Body ! 




68 S1LEX SCINTILLANS, 

How bruis'd and broke, 
With every ilroke ! 

How meek, and patient was thy fpirit ! 
How didil thou cry, 
And grone on high 
" Father forgive, 
And let them live ! 

I dye to make my foes inherit ! " 

4- 

blelTed Lamb ! 
That took'fl my linne, 
That took'fl my fhame, 

How fhall thy dull thy praifes ling ? 

1 would I were 
One hearty teare ! 
One conllant fpring ! 
Then would I bring 

Thee two fmall mites, and be at flrife 
Which fhould moll vie, 
My heart, or eye, 
Teaching my years 
In fmiles and tears 

To weep, to ling, thy Death, my Life. 



Rom. Cap. 8. ver. 19. 

Etenim res create exerto capite obfervantes ex- 
peflant revelationem Filiorum Dei. 

ND do they fo ? have they a Senfe 
Of ought but Influence ? 
Can they their heads lift, and expect, 
And grone too ? why th' Eleft, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 6 9 

Can do no more : my volumes faid 
They were all dull, and dead ; 

They judg'd them fenfleffe, and their ftate 
Wholly inanimate. 
Go, go ; Seal up thy looks, 
And burn thy books. 

2. 

I would I were a Hone, or tree, 

Or flowre by pedigree, 
Or fome poor high-way herb, or Spring 

To flow, or bird to ling ! 
Then fhould I, tyed to one fure ftate, 

All day expect my date. 
But I am fadly loofe, and ftray, 

A giddy blaft each way; 

O let me not thus range ! 
Thou canft not change. 

3- 

Sometimes I fit with thee, and tarry 

An hour or fo, then vary. 
Thy other Creatures in this Scene 

Thee only aym and mean ; 
Some rife to feek thee, and with heads 

Erect peep from their beds ; 
Others, whofe birth is in the tomb, 

And cannot quit the womb, 

Sigh there, and grone for thee, 
Their liberty. 

4- 
O let not me do leffe ! fhall they 
Watch, while I fleep or play ? 



7 o SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Shall I thy mercies Hill abufe 

With fancies, friends, or newes ? 
O brook it not ! thy bloud is mine, 

And my foul mould be thine ; 
O brook it not ! why wilt thou flop 

After whole fhowres one drop ? 

Sure, thou wilt joy to fee 
Thy fheep with thee. 



The Relapfe. 

^Y God, how gracious art thou ! I had flipt 
Almoft to hell, 
And, on the verge of that dark, dreadful pit, 
Did hear them yell ; 
But O thy love ! thy rich, almighty love, 

That fav'd my foul, 
And checkt their furie, when I faw them move, 
And heard them howl ! 

my fole Comfort, take no more thefe wayes, 

This hideous path, 
And I will mend my own without delayes : 
Ceafe thou thy wrath ! 

1 have deferv'd a thick, Egyptian damp, 

Dark as my deeds, 
Should mift within me, and put out that lamp 

Thy fpirit feeds ; 
A darting Confcience full of ftabs and fears ; 

No fhade but Tewgh, 
Sullen and fad Ecclipfes, cloud ie fpheres, 

Thefe are my due. 





OR SACRED POEMS. 71 

Bat he that with his bloud, (a price too deere,) 

My fcores did pay, 
Bid me, by vertue from him, chalenge here 

The brighter!: day ; 
Sweet, downie thoughts, Toft Z//y-fhades, calm 

Joyes full and true, [flreams, 

Frefh, fpicie mornings, and eternal beams, — 

Thefe are his due. 



The Refolve. 

HAVE confider'd it ; and rind 

A longer flay 
Is but excus'd neglect. To mind 

One path, and ftray 
Into another, or to none, 

Cannot be love ; 
When mail that traveller come home, 

That will not move ? 
If thou would'ft thither, linger not, 

Catch at the place ; 
Tell youth and beauty they muil rot, 

They're but a Cafe i 
Loofe, parcell'd hearts will freeze : the Sun 

With fcatter'd locks 
Scarce warms, but by contraction 

Can heat the rocks. 
Call in thy Powers ; run on, and reach 

Home with the light ; 
Be there, before the fhadows ftretch, 

And /pan up night. 
Follow the Cry no more : there is 




72 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

An ancient way- 
All ftrewed with flowres and happinefs, 

And frefh as May ; 
There turn, and turn no more. Let wits, 

Smile at fair eies, 
Or lips ; but who there weeping fits, 

Hath got the Prize. 



The Match. 

I EAR friend ! whofe holy, ever-living lines 
Have done much good 
To many, and have checkt my blood, 
My fierce, wild blood, that ftill heaves and inclines, 
But is ftill tam'd 
By thofe bright fires which thee inflam'd ; 
Here I joyn hands, and thruft my flubborn heart 
Into thy Deed, 
There from no Duties to be freed, 
And if hereafter y outh ox folly thwart 

And claim their fhare, 
Here I renounce the pois'nous ware. 



II. 

ACCEPT, dread Lord, the poore Oblation ; 
It is but poore ; 
Yet through thy mercies may be more. 
O thou ! that canft not wifh my foul's damnation, 
Afford me life, 
And fave me from all inward ftrife ! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 73 

Two Lifes I hold from thee, my gracious Lord, 
Both cofl thee dear ; 
For one, I am thy Tenant here ; 
The other, the true life, in the next world 
And endlefs is, 
O let me Hill mind that in this I 
To thee therefore my Thoughts, Words, Aclions 
I do refign ; 
Thy will in all be done, not mine. 
Settle my houfe, and fhut out all diffractions 
That may unknit 
My heart, and thee planted in it ; 
Lord Jefu / thou didfl bow thy bleffed head 
Upon a tree, 
O do as much, now unto me ! 
O hear, and heal thy fervant ! Lord, flrike dead 
All lulls in me, 
Who onely wifh life to ferve thee ! 
Suffer no more this dull to overflow 

And drown my eies ; 
But feal, or pin them to thy fkies. 
And let this grain, which here in tears I fow, 

(Though dead and feck, 
Through thy lucre afe grow new and quick. 

Rules and Leflbns. 

? HEN firfl thy Eies unveil, give thy foul 
leave 
To do the like ; our Bodies but forerun 
The Spirit's duty. True hearts fpread and heave 
Unto their God, as flow'rs do to the Sun. 







74 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Give him thy firft thoughts then ; fo fhalt thou keep 
Him company all day, and in him fleep. 

Yet never fleep the Sun up. Prayer fhou'd 
Dawn with the day. There are fet, awful hours 
Twixt heaven and us. The Manna was not good 
After Sun-rifing; far-day fullies flowres. 

Rife to prevent the Sun ; lleep doth fins glut, 
And heaven's gate opens when this world's is fhut. 

Walk with thy fellow- creatures : note the hujh 
And whifpers amongft them. There's not a Springy 
Or Leafe but hath his Morning-hymn. Each Bujh 
And Oak doth know / AM. Canft thou not fing ? 

O leave thy Cares, and follies ! go this way ; 

And thou art fure to profper all the day. 

Serve God before the world ; let him not go, 
Until thou haft a blefling ; then reiigne 
The whole unto him ; and remember who 
Prevail'd by wreftling ere the Sun did Jhine. 

Poure Oyle upon the ft ones ; weep for thy fin ; 

Then journey on, and have an eie to heav'n. 

Mornings are Myfteries ; the firft world's Youth, 
Man's Refurrefiion and the future's Bud 
Shro vvd in their births : The Crown of life, light, truth 
Is ftil'd their ftarre, the ft one, and hidden food. 
Three bleftings wait upon them, two of which 
Should move. They make us holy, happy, rich. 

When the world's up, and ev'ry fwarm abroad, 
Keep thou thy temper ; mix not with each Clay ; 
Difpatch necemties ; life hath a load 
Which muft be carri'd on, and fafely may. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 75 

Yet keep thofe cares without thee, let the heart 
Be God's alone, and choofe the better part. 

Through all thy ABions, Counfels, and Difcourfe> 
Let Mildnefs and Religion guide thee out; 
If truth be thine, what needs a brutifh force ? 
But what's not good andjuft ne'er go about. 

Wrong not thy Confcience for a rotten flick ; 

That gain is dreadful, which makes fpirits fick. 

To God, thy countrie, and thy friend be true ; 

If Prieft and People change, keep thou thy ground. 

Who fels Religion, is a Judas Jew ; 

And, oathes once broke, the foul cannot be found. 
The perjurer's a devil let loofe : what can 
Tie up his hands, that dares mock God and man ? 

Seek not the fame Heps with the Crowd ; flick thou 
To thy fure trot; a conflant, humble mind 
Is both his own Joy, and his Maker's too ; 
Let folly dufl it on, or lag behind. 
A fweet felf-privacy in a right foul 
Out-runs the earth, and lines the utmofl pole. 

To all that feek thee bear an open heart ; 
Make not thy breafl a Labyrinth or Trap y 
If tryals come, this wil make good thy part, 
For honefly is fafe, come wha tcan hap ; 

It is the good man's/^/, the prince of flowres, 
Which thrives in ftorms, and fmels befl after 
Jbowres. 

Seal not thy Eyes up from the poor, but give 
Proportion to their Merits, and thy Purfe j 






76 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thou may'fl in rags a mighty Prince relieve, 
Who, when thy fins call for't, can fence a Curfe. 
Thou fhalt not lofe one mite. Though waters flray, 
The Bread we call returns in fraughts one day. 

Spend not an hour fo as to weep another, 

For tears are not thine own ; If thou giv'fl words, 

Dafh not with them thy friend* nor Heaven s O 

fmother 
A viperous thought ; fome Syllables are Swords. 

Unbitted tongues are in their penance double ; 

They fhame their owners, and their hearers trouble. 

Injure not modeil bloud, while fpirits rife 
In judgement againfl lewdnefs ; that's bafe wit, 
That voyds but filth and flench. Hall thou no prize 
But fichnefs or infection? ftifle it. 

Who makes his jefl of fins, mull be at leafl 
If not a very devill, worfe than Beaft. 

Yet fly no friend, if he be fuch indeed ; 

But meet to quench his Longings , and thy Thirft ; 

Allow your Joyes, Religion : that done, fpeed, 

And bring the fame man back, thou wert at firft. 
Who fo returns not, cannot pray aright, 
But fruits his door, and leaves God out all night. 

To heighten thy Devotions, and keep low 
All mutinous thoughts, what bufines e'r thou hall, 
Obferve God in his works ; here fountains flow, 
Birds fing, Beafls feed, Fijh leap, and th' Earth 
Hands fail ; 
Above are reflles Motions, running Lights, 
Vail circling Azure, giddy Clouds, days, nights. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 77 

When Seafons change, then lay before thine eys 
His wondrous Method ; mark the various Scenes 
Inheav'n ; Hail, Thunder, Rain-bows, Snow, a'nd Ice, 
Calmes, Tempefts, Light, and Darknes, by his means ; 

Thou canft not mifle his Praife ; each tree, herb, 
flowre 

Are fhadows of his wifedome, and his pow'r. 

Tomeales when thou doeft come/give him the praife 
Whofe Arm fupply'd thee ; take what may fuffice, 
And then be thankful ; O admire His ways 
Who fills the world's unempty'd granaries ! 
A thanklefs feeder is a Theif, his feaft 
A very Robbery, and himfelf no gueft. 

High-noon thus paft, thy time decays ; provide 
Thee other thoughts : away with friends and mirth ; 
The Sun now Hoops, and haftes his beams to hide 
Under the dark and melancholy Earth. 

All but preludes thy End. Thou art the man 
Whofe Rife, bight, and Defcent, is but a fpan. 

Yet, fet as he doth, and 'tis well. Have all 
Thy Beams home with thee: trim thy Lamp, buy Oyl, 
And then fet forth; who is thus dreft, the Fall 
Furthers his glory, and gives death the foyl. 
Man is a Summer's day ; whofe youth and fire 
Cool to a glorious Evening, and expire. 

When night comes, lift thy deeds ; make plain the way 
'Twixt heaven and thee ; block it not with delays ; 
But perfect all before thou ileep'ft ; then fay 
There' s one Sun more firung on my Bead of days. 
What's good fcore up for Joy ; the bad, well fcann'd* 
Warn off with tears, and get thy Mafter's hand. 



78 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thy Accounts thus made,fpend in the grave one houre 
Before thy time ; be not a ftranger there, 
Where thou may'ft fleep whole ages ; Life's poor flow 'r 
Lafts not a night fometimes. Bad fpirits fear 
This converfation ; But the good man lyes 
Intombed many days before he dyes. 

Being laid, and dreft for fleep, clofe not thy Eyes 
Up with thy curtains ; give thy foul the wing 
In fome good thoughts ; fo, when the day fhall rife, 
And thou unrakft thy fire, thole /parks will bring 

New flames ; befides where thefe lodge, vain heats 
mourn 

And die ; that Bujh, where God is, fhall not burn. 

When thy Nap's over, ftir thy fire, and rake 
In that dead age ; one beam i'th' dark outvies 
Two in the day ; then from the Damps and Ake 
Of night fhut up thy leaves ; be Chafle ; God prys 

Through thicker!: nights ; though then the Sun be 
far, 

Do thou the works of Day, and rife a Star. 

Briefly, Doe as thou would' ft be done unto, 
Love God, and love thy Neighbour; Watch, and Pray. 
Thefe are the Words, and Works of life ; This do, 
And live ; who doth not thus, hath loft Heaven's way. 
O lofe it not ! look up, wilt Change thofe Lights 
For Chains of Darknes and Eternal Nights ? 




OR SACRED POEMS. j 9 



Corruption. 

JURE, It was fo. Man in thofe early days 
Was not all Hone and earth ; 
He fhin'd a little, and by thofe weak rays, 

Had fome glimpfe of his birth. 
He faw Heaven o'er his head, and knew from whence 

He came condemned hither, 
And, as flrfl Love draws ftrongeft, fo from hence 

His mind fure progrefs'd thither. 
Things here were ftrange unto him : fwet and till, 

All was a thorn or weed ; 
Nor did thofe laft, but, like himfelf, dyed ftill 

As foon as they did Seed ; 
They feem'd to quarrel with him ; for that Aft, 

That fell'd him, foyl'd them all; 
He drew the Curfe upon the world, and crackt 

The whole frame with his fall. 
This made him long for home, as loath to ftay 

With murmurers and foes ; 
He fighed for Eden, and would often fay 

Ah ! what bright days were thofe ! 
Nor was Heav'n cold unto him ; for each day 

The vally, or the mountain 
Afforded vifits, and ftill Paradife lay 

In fome green made or fountain. 
Angels lay Leiger here ; each bum, and cell, 

Each oke and high-way knew them : 
Walk but the fields, or fit down at fome well, 

And he was fure to view them. 



80 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Almighty Love ! where art thou now ? mad man 

Sits down, and freezeth on : 
He raves, and fwears to ftir nor fire nor fan, 

But bids the thread be fpun. 
I fee, thy curtains are clofe-drawn ; thy Bow 

Looks dim too in the cloud ; 
Sin triumphs frill, and man is funk below 

The center, and his fhrowd. 
All's in deep fleep and night ; thick darknefs lyes 

And hatcheth o'er thy people — 
But hark ! what trumpet's that, what angel cries 

J rife I Thruft in thy fickle ! 



I 



Holy Scriptures. 




" ELCOME, dear book, Soul's joy and food ! 
The feaft 
Of Spirits : Heav'n extracted lyes in thee. 
Thou art life's Charter, The Dove's spotlefs neft 
Where fouls are hatch'd unto Eternitie. 

In thee the hidden flone, the Manna lies ; 

Thou art the great Elixir rare and choice ; 
The Key that opens to all Myfteries, 

The Word in Characters, God in the Voice. 

O that I had deep cut in my hard heart 

Each line in thee ! Then would I plead in groans 

Of my Lord's penning, and by fweeteft Art 
Return upon himfelf the Lazv 9 and Stones, 
Read here, my faults are thine. This Book and I 
Will tell thee fo ; Sweet Saviour thou didft dye ! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 



81 



Unprofitablenes. 




2 OW rich, O Lord, how frefh thy vifits are ! 

'Twas but juft now my bleak leaves hope- 
lefs hung 

Sullyed with duft and mud ; 
Each fnarling blaft fhot through me, and did ihear 
Their Youth and Beauty ; cold fhowres nipt and 
wrung 

Their fpicinefs and bloud. 
But fince thou didft in one fweet glance furvey 
Their fad decays, I flourifh, and once more 

Breathe all perfumes and ipice ; 
I fmell a dew like Myrrh, and all the day 
Wear in my bofome a full Sun ; fuch ftore 

Hath one beame from thy eyes. 
But, ah, my God ! what fruit haft thou of this r 
What one poor leaf did ever I let fall 

To wait upon thy wreath ? 
Thus thou all day a thanklefs weed doll drefs, 
And when th' haft done, a ftench or fog is all 

The odour I bequeath. 



Chrift's Nativity. 




H|WAKE, glad heart ! get up and ring ! 
It is the Birth-day of thy King, 
Awake ! awake ! 
The Sundoth make 

G 



82 SILEX SC1NTILLANS, 

Light from his locks, and, all the way 
Breathing Perfumes, doth fpice the day 



2. 

Awake, awake ! heark how th' wood rings ; 
Winds whifper, and the bufie fprings 

A Concert make ; 

Awake ! awake ! 
Man is their high-prieft, and ihould rife 
To offer up the facriiice. 

3- 

I would I were fome bird, or ftar, 
Fluttering in woods, or lifted far 

Above this Inne 

And rode of fin ! 
Then either ftar or bird Ihould be 
Shining or finging {till to thee. 

4- 
I would I had in my beft part 

Fit roomes for thee ! or that my heart 

Were fo clean as 

Thy manger was ! 
But I am all filth, and obfcene ; 
Yet, if thou wilt, thou canft make clean. 

5- 

Sweet Jefu! will then. Let no more 
This Leper haunt and foyl thy door ! 

Cure him, eafe him, 

O releafe him ! 
And let once more, by myftick birth, 
The Lord of life be born in earth. 







OR SACRED POEMS. S3 



H 



II. 

OW kind is Heav'n to man ! If here 

One finner doth amend, 
Strait there is Joy, and ev'ry iphere 

In muiick doth contend. 
And fhall we then no voices lift ? 

Are Mercy and Salvation 
Not worth our thanks ? Is Life a gift 

Of no more acceptation ? 
Shall He that did come down from thence, 

And here for us was flain, 
Shall He be now caff, off? no fenfe 

Of all his woes remain ? 
Can neither Love nor Sufferings bind? 

Are we all ftone and earth ? 
Neither his bloudy paffions mind, 

Nor one day blelTe his birth? 
Alas, my God ! Thy birth, now, here, 
Mull not be numbred in the year.* 



The Check. 

'EACE, peace ! I blufh to hear thee; when 
thou art 
A dufty ftory, 
A fpeechlefle heap, and in the midft my heart 

* The Puritans abolijhed the celebration of Cbriftmas. 




84 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

In the fame livery dreft 
Lyes tame as all the reft ; 
When fix years thence digg'd up, fome youthful! Eye 

Seeks there for fymmetry, 
But finding none, fhall leave thee to the wind, 
Or the next foot to cruih, 
Scatt'ring thy kind 
And humble duft, — tell then, dear flefh, 
Where is thy glory ? 

2. 

As he, that in the midft of day expects 

The hideous night, 
Sleeps not, but making offiloth and neglects, 
Works with the Sun, and iets. 
Paying the day its debts ; 
That for repofe and darknefs bound, he might 

Reft from the fears i'th' night ; 
So mould we too. All things teach us to die, 
And point us out the way; 
While we pafTe by, 
And mind it not ; play not away 
Thy glimpfe of light. 

3- 

View thy fore-runners. Creatures, giv'n to be 
Thy youth's Companions, 

Take their leave, and die ; birds, beafts, each tree 
All that have growth or breath 
Have one large language, Death! 

O then play not ! but ftrive to Him, who can 
Make thefe fad fhades pure Sun, 

Turning their mifts to beams, their damps to day ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. S5 

Whofe pow'r doth To excell 
As to make Clay 
A Spirit, and true glory dwell 
In dull and Hones. 

4- 
Heark, how he doth invite thee ! with what voice 

Of love and forrow 
He begs and calls ! O, that in thefe thy days 
Thou knew'it but thy own good ! 
Shall not the crys of bloud, 
Of God's own bloud, awake thee ? He bids beware 

Of drunknes, furfeits, care; 
But thou fleep'ft on ; where's now thy proteftation, 
Thy lines, thy love ? Away ! 
Redeem the day; 
The day that gives no obfervation 
Perhaps to morrow. 



Diforder and Frailty. 

"HEN firft thou didft even from the grave 
And womb of darknefs becken out 
^ My brutiih foul, and to thy Have 
Becam'il thy felf both guide and fcout ; 

Even from that hour 
Thou got'ft my heart ; and though here toft 
By winds, and bit with froft, 
I pine and {hrink, 
Breaking the link 
'Twixt thee and me ; and oftimes creep 
Into th' old filence, and dead fleep, 




86 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Quitting thy way 
All the long day ; 
Yet, fure, my God ! I love thee mo ft. 
Alas, Thy Love! 

2. 

I threaten Heaven, and from my cell 
Of clay and frailty break and bud, 
Touch'd by thy fire and breath ; thy bloud 
Too is my dew, and fpringing well. 

But while I grow 
And ftretch to thee, ayming at all 
Thy ftars and fpangled hall, 

Each fly doth tafte 

Poyfon, and blaft 
My yielding leaves ; fometimes a fhowr 
Beats them quite off; and in an hour 

Not one poor moot, 

But the bare root 
Hid under ground furvives the fall. 

Alas, frail Weed ! 

3- 

Thus like fome fleeping exhalation, 

Which, wak'd by heat and beams, makes up 

Unto that comforter, the Sun, 

And foars, and fhines, but ere we fup 

And walk two fteps, 
Cool'd by the damps of night, defcends, 
And, whence it fprung, there ends, 

Doth my weak fire 

Pine, and retire ; 
And, after all my height of flames, 
In fickly expirations tames, 






OR SACRED POEMS. 87 

Leaving me dead 
On my firft bed, 
Untill thy Sun again afcends. 
Poor, falling Star! 

4 \ 

O, yes ! but give wings to my fire ; 

And hatch my foul, untill it fly 
Up where thou art, amongfl thy tire 
Of liars, above infirmity ; 

Let not perverfe 
And foolifh thoughts adde to my bill 
Of forward Sins, and kill 

That feed, which thou 

In me didfl fow ; 
But dreife, and water with thy grace, 
Together with the feed, the place ; 

And, for his fake 

Who died to flake 
His life for mine, tune to thy will 

My heart, my verfe. 

Hofea, cap. 6. ver. 4. 
O Ephraim what Jhall I do unto thee ? O Judah 
how Jhall I intreat thee P for thy goodnefs is as a 
morning Cloud, and as the early Dew it goeth away. 



Idle Verfe. 

O, go, queint folies, fugred fin, 
Shadow no more my door! 
I will no longer cobwebs fpin ; 
I'm too much on the fcore. 




88 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

For fince amidft my youth and night 
My great preferver fmiles, 

We'll make a match, my only light, 
And joyn againll their wiles. 

Blind, defp'rate^Y/, that ftudy how 

To drefle and trim our fhame, 

That gild rank poyfon, and allow 
Vice in a fairer name ; 

The Purles of youthfull bloud and bowles, 
Luft in the robes of love, 

The idle tafk of feav'rifh fouls 

Sick with a fcarf or glove ; 

Let it fuffice my warmer days 

Simper'd and fhin'd on you ; 

Twill not my Cypreffe with your Bays 
Or Rofes with my Yewgh. 

Go, go, feek out fome greener thing ; 

It fnows and freezeth here ; 
Let Nightingales attend the fpring ; 

Winter is all my year. 



Son-dayes. 

BRIGHT fliadows of true Reft ! fome moots 
ofbliffe; 

Heaven once a week; 
The next world's gladnefs preporTeft in this ; 
A day to feek 




OR SACRED POEMS. 89 

Eternity in time ; the Heps by which 

We climb above all ages ; Lamps that light 

Man through his heap of dark days ; and the rich, 

And full redemption of the whole week's flight ! 

2. 
The Pulleys unto headlong man ; time's bower ; 

The narrow way ; 
Tranfplanted Paradife ; God's walking houre ; 

The cool o'th' day ! 

The creature's Jubile ; God's parle with dull ; 
Heaven here ; man on thofe hills of myrrh and 

flowres ; 
Angels defcending ; the Returns of Truft ; 
A Gleam of Glory after iix-days-ihowres ! 

3- 
The Churche's love-feafts ; Time's Prerogative, 

And Intereft 
Deducted from the whole ; The combs, and hive, 

And home of reft. 

The milky way chalkt out with Suns, a clue 
That guides through erring hours ; and in full ftory 
A tafte of Heav'n on earth ; the pledge and cue 
Of a full feaft ; and the out-courts of glory. 



Repentance. 

ORD, iince thou didft in this vile clay 
That facred ray, 
Thy Spirit, plant, quickning the whole 
With that one grain's infufed wealth, 




9 o SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

My forward flefh crept on, and fubtly Hole 

Both growth and power; checking the health 
And heat of thine. That little gate 

And narrow way, by which to thee 
The pafTage is, He term'd a grate 

And entrance to Captivitie : 
Thy Laws but nets, where fome fmall birds, 

And thofe but feldome too, were caught, 
Thy Promifes but empty words 

Which none but children heard, or taught. 
This I believed : and though a friend 

Came oft from far, and whifper'd, No ; 
Yet, that not forting to my end, 

I wholy liflen'd to my foe. 
Wherefore, pierc'd through with grief, my fad, 

Seduced foul iighs up to thee ; 
To thee, who with true light art clad, 

And feeft all things juft as they be. 
Look from thy throne upon this roll 

Of heavy fins, my high tranfgreffions, 
Which I confefle with all my foul ; 
My God, accept of my confeflion ! 
It was lafl day, 
TouchM with the guilt of my own way, 
I fate alone, and taking up 
The bitter cup, 
Through all thy fair and various flore, 
Sought out what might outvie my fcore. 

The blades of graffe thy creatures feeding ; 
The trees, their leafs ; the flowres, their feeding ; 
The dull, of which I am a part ; 
The flones much fofter than my heart ; 
The drops of rain, the fighs of wind, 
The liars, to which I am ilark blind ; 






OR SACRED POEMS. 91 

The dew thy herbs drink up by night, 
The beams they warm them at i'th' light ; 
All that have fignature or life 
I fummon'd to decide this ftrife ; 
And left I mould lack for arrears, 
A fpring ran by, I told her tears ; 
But when thefe came unto the fcale, 
My fins alone outweigh'd them all. 

O my dear God ! my life, my love ! 

Moll bleffed Lamb ! and mildeft Dove ! 

Forgive your penitent offender, 

And no more his lins remember ; 

Scatter thefe fhades of death, and give 

Light to my foul, that it may live ; 

Cut me not off for my tranfgreffions, 

Wilful rebellions, and fuppreflions ; 

But give them in thofe ilreams a part 

Whofe fpring is in my Saviour's heart. 

Lord, I confeiTe the heynous fcore, 

And pray, I may do fo no more ; 

Though then all finners I exceed ; 

O think on this ; Thy Son did bleed! 

O call to mind his Wounds, his Woes, 

His Agony, and Bloudie Throes ; 

Then look on all that thou haft made, 

And mark how they do fail and fade ; 

The heavens themfelves, though fair and bright, 

Are dark and unclean in thy fight ; 

How then, with thee, can man be holy, 

Who doeft thine Angels charge with folly ? 

what am I, that I mould breed 
Figs on a thorne, flowres on a weed ? 

1 am the gourd of fin and forrow, 
Growing o'er night, and gone to morrow. 



gz SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

In all this round of life and death 
Nothing's more vile than is my breath ; 
Profanenes on my tongue doth reft, 
Defects and darknefs in my breft; 
Pollutions all my body wed, 
And even my foul to thee is dead ; 
Only in him, on whom I feaft, 
Both foul and body are well dreft ; 
His pure perfection quits all fcore, 
And fills the boxes of his poor ; 

He is the Center of long life and light; 

I am but finite, He is Infinite. 

O let thy J uft ice then in him confine ; 

And through his merits make thy mercy mine ? 




The Burial of an Infant. 






^g|gLEST Infant Bud, whofe BlofTome-life 

lPlP)T§ ^^ on ty ^ 00 ^ a b° ut > an d fall, 
ier^fe Wearyed out in a harmlefs ftrife 
Of tears, and milk, the food of all ! 

Sweetly didft thou expire : thy foul 
Flew home unftain'd by his new kin ; 
For ere thou knew'ft how to be foul, 
Death wean'd thee from the world and fin. 

Softly reft all thy Virgin-Crums ! 
Lapt in the fweets of thy young breath, 
Expecting till thy Saviour comes 
To dreife them, and unfwadle death. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 93 



Faith. 

|r RIGHT and bleft beame ! whofe ftrong 
projection, 




Equall to all, 
Reacheth as well things of dejection, 

As th' high and tall ; 
How hath my God by raying thee 

Inlarg'd his fpoufe, 
And of a private familie 

Made open houfe ! 
All may be now co-heirs ; no noife 

Of Bond or Free 
Can interdict us from thofe Joys 

That wait on thee. 
The Law and Ceremonies made 

A glorious night, 
Where ftars, and clouds, both light and made, 

Had equal right ; 
But, as in nature, when the day 

Breaks, night adjourns, 
Stars (hut up fhop, mifts pack away, 

And the moon mourns ; 
So, when the Sun of Righteoufnefs 

Did once appear, 
That fcene was chang'd, and a new dreiTe 

Left for us here ; 
Veiles became ufeles, Altars fell, 

Fires fmoking die ; 
And all that facred pomp, and fhell 

Of things did flie. 



I 



94 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Then did He fhine forth, whofe fad fall, 

And bitter fights 
Were figur'd in thofe myftical, 

And cloudie Rites ; 
And as i'th 5 natural Sun, thefe three, 

Light, motion, heat, 
So are now Faith, Hope, Charity 

Through him Compleat ; 
Faith fpans up blifie ; what fin and death 

Puts us quite from, 
Left we fhould run for't out of breath, 

Faith brings us home ; 
So that I need no more, but fay 

/ do believe, 
And my moft loving Lord ftraitway 

Doth anfwer, Live! 



The Dawning. 

H ! what time wilt thou come ? when mall 
that crie 
The Bridegroome^s comming! fill the fky ? 
Shall it in the evening run 
When our words and works are done ? 
Or will thy all-furprizing light 

Break at midnight, 
When either fleep, or fome dark pleafure 
PofTerTeth mad man without meafure ? 
Or fhall thefe early, fragrant hours 

Unlock thy bowres ? 
And with their blufh of light defcry 




OR SACRED POEMS. 95 

Thy locks crown'd with eternitie ? 
Indeed, it is the only time 
That with thy glory doth beft chime ; 
All now are ftirring, ev'ry field 

Full hymns doth yield ; 
The whole Creation fhakes off night, 
And for thy fhadow looks the light; 
Stars now vanifh without number, 
Sleepie planets fet and flumber, 
The purfie clouds difband and fcatter, 
All expecl fome fudden matter ; 
Not one beam triumphs, but from far 

That morning-ftar. 

O at what time foever thou, 

Unknown to us, the heavens wilt bow, 

And, with thy Angels in the van, 

Defcend to judge poor carelefs man, 

Grant, I may not like puddle lie 

In a corrupt fecuritie, 

Where, if a traveller water crave, 

He finds it dead, and in a grave. 

But as this reftlefs, vocal fpring 

All day and night doth run, and fing, 

And though here born, yet is acquainted 

Elfewhere, and flowing keeps untainted ; 

So let me all my bufie age 

In thy free fervices ingage ; 

And though (while here) of force I mufl 

Have commerce fomtimes with poor duft, 

And in my flefh, though vile and low, 

As this doth in her channel flow, 

Yet let my courfe, my aym, my love, 

And chief acquaintance be above ; 




96 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

So when that day and hour fhall come, 
In which thy felf will be the Sun, 
Thou'lt find me dreft and on my way, 
Watching the break of thy great day. 



Admiffion. 

rr OW fhrill are filent tears ? when fin got head 
And all my bowels turn'd 
To bralle and iron, when my flock lay dead, 
And all my powers mourn'd; 
Then did thefe drops, (for marble fweats, 

And rocks have tears,) 
As rain here at our windows beats, 
Chide in thine ears ; 

2. 

No quiet couldft thou have : nor didft thou wink, 

And let thy begger lie, 
But ere my eies could overflow their brink 
Didft to each drop reply. 
Bowels of Love ! at what low rate, 

And flight a price 
Doft thou relieve us at thy gate, 
And ftill our cries ! 

3- 

Wee are thy infants, and fuck thee ; if thou 

But hide, or turn thy face, 

Becaufe where thou art yet we cannot go, 

We fend tears to the place. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 97 

Thefe find thee out, and, though our fins 

Drove thee away, 
Yet with thy love that abfence wins 

Us double pay. 

4- 
O give me then a thankful heart ! a heart 

After thy own, not mine ; 
So after thine, that all and ev'ry part 
Of mine may wait on thine ; 
O hear ! yet not my tears alone, 

Hear now a floud, 
A floud that drowns both tears and grones ; 
My Saviour's bloud. 



Praife. 

SING of Comforts ! King of life ! 
Thou haft cheer'd me ; 
And when fears and doubts were rife, 
Thou haft cleer'd me ! 

Not a nook in all my breaft 
But thou fiirftit; 

Not a thought, that breaks my reft, 
But thou kill'ftit; 

Wherefore with my utmoft ftrength 

I will praife thee, 
And as thou giv'ft line and length 

I will raife thee ; 

Day and night, not once a day, 
I will blefTe thee ; 

H 




98 SILEX SC1NTILLJNS, 

And my foul in new array 
I will dreffe thee ; 

Not one minute in the year 

But I'll mind thee ; 

As my feal and bracelet here 
I will bind thee ; 

In thy word, as if in heaven, 
I will reft me ; 

And thy promife 'till made even 
There fhall feaft me. 

Then thy fayings all my life 

There fhall pleafe me, 

And thy bloudy wounds and ftrife, 
They will eafe me ; 

With thy grones my daily breath 
I will meafure, 

And my life hid in thy death 
I will treafure. 

Though then thou art 
Paft thought of heart 

All perfect fulnefs, 

And canft no whit 
Acceffe admit 

From duft and dulnefs ; 

Yet to thy name, 
As not the fame 
With thy bright E {fence, 

Our foul clay hands 




OR SACRED POEMS. 99 

At thy commands 
Bring praife and incenfe ; 

If then, dread Lord, 

When to thy board 
Thy wretch comes begging, 

He hath a flowre, 

Or, to his pow'r, 
Some fuch poor OfF'ring; 

When thou haft made 

Thy begger glad, 
And fill'd his bofome, 

Let him, though poor, 

Strow at thy door 
That one poor bloflbme. 

Dreffing. 

THOU that loveft a pure and whiten'd foul ! 
| That feedft among the Lillies, 'till the day 
Break, and the fhadows flee ! touch with 
one coal 
My frozen heart ! and with thy fecret key 

Open my defolate rooms ; my gloomie breft 
With thy cleer fire refine, burning to dull: 
Thefe dark confufions that within me neft, 
And foyl thy Temple with a finful ruft. 

Thou holy, harmlefs, undehTd High-prieft ! 
The perfect, full oblation for all fin, 
Whofe glorious conqueft nothing can refill, 
But even in babes doeft triumph ftill and win ; 




ioo SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Give to thy wretched one 
Thy myfticall Communion, 
That, abfent, he may fee, 
Live, die, and rife with thee ; 
Let him fo follow here, that in the end 
He may take thee, as thou doll him intend. 

Give him thy private feal, 

Earneft, and fign. Thy gifts fo deal 

That thefe forerunners here 

May make the future cleer. 

Whatever thou doft bid let faith make good, 

Bread for thy body, and Wine for thy blood. 

Give him, with pitty, love, 
Two flowres that grew with thee above ; 

Love that fhall not admit 

Anger for one fhort fit; 
And pitty of fuch a divine extent, 
That may thy members, more than mine, refent. 

Give me, my God ! thy grace, 
The beams and brightnefs of thy face ; 

That never like a bead 

I take thy facred feaft, 
Or the dread myfteries of thy bleft bloud 
Ufe, with like cuftome, as my kitchin food. 

Some fit to thee, and eat 
Thy body as their common meat ; 

O let not me do fo ! 

Poor duft fhould ly ftill low ; 
Then kneel, my foul and body, kneel and bow ; 
If Saints and Angels fall down, much more thou. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 101 



Eafter-day. 




pHOU, whofe fad heart and weeping head 
lyes low, 
Whofe cloudy breft cold damps invade, 
Who never feel'ft the fun, nor fmooth'il thy brow, 
But fitt'ft oppreffed in the made, 

Awake ! awake ! 
And in his Refurre&ion partake, 

Who on this day, that thou might'ft rife as He, 
Rofe up, and cancell'd two deaths due to thee. 

Awake ! awake ! and, like the fun, difperfe 
All mills that would ufurp this day ; 

Where are thy Palmes, thy branches, and thy verfe r 
Hofanna i heark ! why doeft thou flay ? 
Arife ! arife ! 

And with his healing bloud anoint thine eyes, 

Thy inward eyes ; his bloud will cure thy mind, 
Whofe fpittle only could reftore the blind. 



Eafter Hymn. 

EATH and darknefs get you packing, 
j' Nothing now to man is lacking ; 
All your triumphs now are ended, 
And what Adam marr'd is mended ; 
Graves are beds now for the weary, 
Death a nap, to wake more merry ; 




ioz SILEX SC INTILLJNS, 

Youth now, fall of pious duty, 
Seeks in thee for perfect beauty ; 
The weak and aged, tir'd with length 
Of daies, from thee look for new ftrength ; 
And infants with thy pangs conteft 
As pleafant, as if with the breft. 

Then, unto Him, who thus hath thrown 
Even to contempt thy kingdome down, 
And by His blood did us advance 
Unto His own Inheritance, 
To Him be glory, power, praife, 
From this, unto the laft of daies ! 



The Holy Communion. 

'ELCOME fweet, facred feaft ! welcome 
life! 
Dead I was, and deep in trouble ; 
But grace and blemngs came with thee fo rife, 
That they have quicken'd even drie Hubble. 
Thus foules their bodies animate, 
And thus at firfl when things were rude, 
Dark, void, and crude, 
They by thy Word their beauty had and date ; 
All were by thee, 
And ftill mull: be ; 
Nothing that is, or lives, 
But hath his quicknings, and reprieves, 
As thy hand opes or fhuts ; 
Healings, and cuts, 
Darknefs and day-light, life and death 




OR SACRED POEMS. 103 

Are but meer leaves turn'd by thy breath. 

Spirits without thee die, 
And blacknefs fits 

On the divineft wits, 
As on the Sun ecclipfes lie. 
But that great darknefs at thy death, 
When the veyl broke with thy lafl breath, 

Did make us fee 

The way to thee ; 
And now by thefe fure, facred ties, 

After thy blood 

Our fov'rain good, 

Had clear'd our eies, 

And given us fight ; 
Thou dofl unto thy felf betroth 

Our fouls and bodies both, 

In everlafting light. 

Was't not enough that thou hadft payd the price, 

And given us eies 
When we had none, but thou muft alfo take 
Us by the hand, 
And keep us ftill awake, 
When we would fleep, 
Or from thee creep, 
Who without thee cannot Hand ? 

Was't not enough to lofe thy breath 
And blood by an accurfed death, 

But thou muft alfo leave 

To us, that did bereave 
Thee of them both, thefe feals, the means 

That mould both cleanfe 
And keep us fo, 




104 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Who wrought thy wo ? 
O rofe of Sharon ! O the Lilly 

Of the valley ! 
How art thou now, thy flock to keep, 
Become both food, and Sbepbeard to thy fheep ! 



Pfalm 121. 



P to thofe bright and gladfome hills, 
Whence flowes my weal and mirth, 
I look, and figh for Him, who fills 
Unfeen both heaven and earth. 

He is alone my help and hope, 
That I mall not be moved; 

His watchful eye is ever ope, 
And guardeth his beloved ; 

The glorious God is my fole flay, 

He is my fun and fhade ; 
The cold by night, the heat by day ; 

Neither fhall me invade. 

He keeps me from the fpite of foes ; 

Doth all their plots controul ; 
And is a fhield, not reckoning thofe, 

Unto my very foul. 

Whether abroad, amidft the crowd, 

Or elfe within my door, 
He is my pillar and my cloud, 

Now and for evermore. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 105 



Affliction. 

EACE, peace. It is not fo. Thou doft 
mifcall 
Thy phyfick ; pills that change 
Thy fick Acceffions into fetled health ; 
This is the great Elixir that turns gall 
To wine and fweetnefs, poverty to wealth, 
And brings man home, when he doth range. 
Did not He, who ordain'd the day, 

Ordain night too ? 
And in the greater world difplay 
What in the leffer He would do ? 
All flefh is clay, thou know'ft ; and but that God 

Doth ufe his rod, 
And by a fruitfull change of frofls and fhowres 

Cherifh and bind thy pow'rs, 
Thou wouldft to weeds and thirties quite difperfe, 

And be more wild than is thy verfe. 
Sicknefs is wholfome, and crofTes are but curbs 

To check the mule, unruly man ; 
They are heaven's hufbandry, the famous fan, 

Purging the floor which chaff diflurbs. 
Were all the year one conftant Sun-ihine, wee 

Should have no flowres ; 
All would be drought and leannefs ; not a tree 

Would make us bowres. 
Beauty confifts in colours ; and that's bell 
Which is not fixt, but flies and flowes. 
The fettled Red is dull, and whites that reft 
Something of ficknefs would difclofe. 
Viciflitude plaies all the game ; 



io6 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Nothing that ftirrs, 
Or hath a name, 
But waits upon this wheel ; 
Kingdomes too have their phyfick, and for fteel 

Exchange their peace and furrs. 
Thus doth God key diforder'd man, 

which none elfe can ; 
Tuning his breft to rife or fall ; 
And by a facred, need full art, 
Like firings, ftretch ev'ry part 
Making the whole moft muficall. 



The Tempeft. 

if OW is man parcell'd out ! how every hour 
Shews him himfelf, or fomething he mould 
fee! 
This late, long heat may his inflruction be ; 
And tempefts have more in them than a fhowr. 

When nature on her bofome Jaw 

Her Infants die, 
And all her flowres withered to ft raw, 

Her breft s grown dry ; 
She ?nade the Earth, their nurfe £ff tomb, 

Sigh to the Jky, 
'Till to tbofe Jighes, fetch' d from her womb, 

Rain did reply j 
So in the midft of all her fears 

And faint requefts, 
Her earneft fighes procurd her tears 

And fir d her brefts. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 107 

O that man could do fo ! that he would hear 

The world read to him ! all the vail expence 
In the Creation ihed and ilav'd to fence, 

Makes up but lectures for his eie and ear. 

Sure Mighty Love, forefeeing the defcent 
Of this poor creature, by a gracious art 
Hid in thefe low things fnares to gain his heart, 

And layd furprizes in each element. 

All things here ihew him heaven ; waters that fall 
Chide and fly up ; mifts of corrupter!: foam 
Quit their firil beds and mount ; trees, herbs, 
flowres, all 

Strive upwards ilill, and point him the way home. 

How do they call off groiThefs ? only Earth 
And Man, like IJfachar, in lodes delight, 
Water's refin'd to Motion, Aire to Light, 

Fire to all* three, but man hath no fuch mirth. 

Plants in the root with Earth do moll comply, 
Their Leafs with water and humiditie, 
The Flowres to air draw neer and fubtiltie, 

And Seeds a kindred fire have with the iky. 

All have their keyes and fet afcents ; but man 

Though he knows thefe, and hath more of his 

own, 
Sleeps at the ladder's foot ; alas ! what can 

Thefe new difcoveries do, except they drown ? 

Thus, groveling in the ihade and darknefs, he 
Sinks to a dead oblivion ; and though all 

Light, Motion, Heat, 



io8 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

He fees, like Pyramids, fhoot from this ball, 
And, lefFning ftill, grow up inviilbly, 

Yet hugs he ftill his durt ; The fluff e he wears, 

And painted trimming takes down both hiseies; 
Heaven hath lefs beauty than the duft he fpies, 

And money better mufick than the Spheres, 

Life's but a blaft ; he knows it ; what ? fhall ftraw 
And bul-rufh-fetters temper his fhort hour ? 
Muft he nor fip nor fing ? grows ne'r a flowr 

To crown his temples ? fhall dreams be his law ? 

O foolifh man ! how haft tnou loft thy light ? 
How is it that the Sun to thee alone 
Is grown thick darknefs, and thy bread a ftone? 

Hath fleih no foftnefs now ? mid-day no light ? 

Lord ! thou didft put a foul here. If I muft 
Be broke again, for flints will give no fire 
Without a fteel, O let thy power cleer 

Thy gift once more, and grind this flint to duft ! 



Retirement. 

? HO on yon throne of azure fits, 
Keeping clofe houfe 
^ Above the morning-ftarre, 
Whofe meaner fhowes 
And outward utenfils thefe glories are, 
That mine and ihare 
Part of his manfion ; He one day, 
When I went quite aftray, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 109 

Out of meer love, 
By his mild Dove, 
Did fhew me home, and put me in the way. 

2. 

Let it fuffice at length thy fits 
And lulls, faid he, 
Have had their wifh and way ; 
Preffe not to be 
Still thy own foe and mine ; for to this day 
I did delay, 
And would not fee, but chofe to wink ; 
Nay, at the very brink 
And edge of all, 
When thou wouldll fall, 
My love-twifk held thee up, my unfeen link. 

3- 

I know thee well ; for I have fram'd, 
And hate thee not; 
Thy fpirit too is mine; 
I know thy lot, 
Extent, and end, for my hands drew the line 
Affigned thine ; 
If then thou would'fl unto my feat, 
'Tis not th' applaufe and feat 
Of dull and clay 
Leads to that way, 
But from thofe follies a refolv'd retreat. 

4- 

Now here below, where yet untam'd 
Thou doll thus rove, 
I have a houfe, as well 
As there above ; 



no SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

In it my Name and Honour both do dwell 
And (hall untill 
I make all new ; there nothing['s] gay 
In perfumes or array ; 
Dull lies with dull, 
And hath but juft 
The fame refpedl and room with ev'ry clay. 

5- 

A faithfull fchool, where thou maill fee. 
In herald rie 
Of Hones and fpeechlefs earth, 
Thy true defcent ; 
Where dead men preach, who can turn feafts and 
mirth 

To funerals and Lent. 
There duft, that out of doors might fill 
Thy eies, and blind thee Hill, 
Is fall afleep. 
Up then, and keep 
Within thofe doors, my doors. Doll hear? / will. 



Love, and Difcipline. 



\f-INCE in a land not barren Hill, 
' Becaufe thou doll thy grace diftill, 
My lot is fain, blefl be thy will ! 



And iince thefe biting frofts but kill 
Some tares in me which choke or fpill 
That feed thou fow'fl, blefl be thy fkill ! 




OR SACRED POEMS. in 

Bleft be thy dew, and bleft thy froft, 
And happy I to be fo croft, 
And cur'd by crofTes at thy coft. 

The dew doth cheer what is diftreft, 
The frofts ill weeds nip and moleft, 
In both thou work'ft unto the beft. 

Thus while thy fev'rall mercies plot, 
And work on me, now cold now hot, 
The work goes on, and flacketh not ; 

For as thy hand the weather fleers, 
So thrive I beft 'twixt joyes and tears, 
And all the year have fome grean ears. 



The Pilgrimage. 

S travel] ours when the twilight's come, 
And in the fky the ftars appear, 
The paft daies accidents do fumme 
With, Thus wee Jaw there, and thus here. 

Then Jacob-like lodge in a place, 
A place, and no more, is fet down, 
Where till the day reftore the race 
They reft and dream homes of their own. 

So for this night I linger here, 
And, full of toffings to and fro, 
Expect ftill when thou wilt appear, 
That I may get me up, and go. 







ii2 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

I long and grone and grieve for thee, 
For thee my words, my tears do gufh ; 
O that I were but where I fee ! 
Is all the note within my bufh. 

As birds robb'd of their native w T ood, 
Although their diet may be fine, 
Yet neither fing, nor like their food, 
But with the thought of home do pine ; 

So do I mourn, and hang my head; 
And though thou doft me fullnes give, 
Yet look I for far better bread, 
Becaufe by this man cannot live. 

O feed me then ! and fince I may 
Have yet more days, more nights to count, 
So ftrengthen me, Lord, all the way, 
That I may travel to thy Mount. 

Heb. cap. n. ver. 13. 
And they confejjed, that they were ftrangers and 
pilgrims on the earth. 



The Law and the Gofpel. 

\ ORD, when thou didft on Sinai pitch, 
And fhine from Paran, when a firie Law, 
Pronounc'd with thunder and thy threats, 
did thaw 
Thy people's hearts, when all thy weeds w T ere rich, 
And inaccemble for light, 
Terrour, and might; — 




OR SACRED POEMS. 113 

How did poor flefh, which after thou didft weare, 

Then faint and fear ! 
Thy chqfen flock, like leafs in a high wind, 
Whifper'd obedience, and their heads inclin'd. 

2. 

But now iince we to Sion came, 
And through thy bloud thy glory fee, 
With filial confidence we touch ev'n thee ; 
And where the other Mount, all clad in flame 

And threatning clouds, would not fo much 
As 'bide the touch, 
We climb up this, and have too all the way 

Thy hand our Hay ; 
Nay, thoutak'ft ours, and, which full comfort brings, 
Thy Dove too bears us on her facred wings. 

3- 

Yet fince man is a very brute, 
And, after all thy acts of grace, doth kick, 
Slighting that health thou gav'ft when he was rick, 
Be not difpleas'd, if I, who have a fute 

To thee each houre, beg at thy door 
For this one more ; 

plant in me thy Gofpel, and thy Law / 

Both Faith and Awe ; 
So twift them in my heart, that ever there 

1 may as well as Love, find too thy Fear ! 

4- 

Let me not fpill, but drink thy bloud ; 

I Not break thy fence, and by a black excefs 
i Force down a juft curfe, when thy hands would blefs ; 
Let me not fcatter and defpife my food, 




ii4 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Or nail thofe bleffed limbs again 

Which bore my pain. 
So fhall thy mercies flow : for while I fear, 

I know thou'lt bear, 
But mould thy mild injunction nothing move me, 
I would both think and judge I did not love thee. 

John, cap. 14. ver. 15. 
If ye love me> keep my commandments. 



The World. 

SAW Eternity the other night, 

Like a great Ring of pure and endlefs light, 

All calm, as it was bright ; 
And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years, 

Driv'n by the fpheres, 
Like a vaft fhadow mov'd, in which the world 

And all her train were hurl'd. 
The doting Lover in his queinteft ftrain 

Did there complain ; 
Neer him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights, 

Wit's four delights ; 
With gloves, and knots the filly fnares of pleafure, 

Yet his dear Treafure, 
All fcatter'd lay, while he his eyes did pour 

Upon a flowr. 

2. 

The darkfome Statefman, hung with weights and woe, 
Like a thick midnight-fog, mov'd there fo flow, 

He did nor flay, nor go ; 
Condemning thoughts, like fad Ecclipfes, fcowl 



OR SACRED POEMS. 115 

Upon his foul, 
And clouds of crying witnefles without 

Purfued him with one fhout. 
Yetdigg'd the Mole, and, left his ways be found, 

Workt under ground, 
Where he did clutch his prey. But one did fee 

That policie. 
Churches and altars fed him ; Perjuries 

Were gnats and flies ; 
It rain'd about him bloud and tears ; but he 

Drank them as free. 

3. 

The fearfull mifer on a heap of ruft 

Sate pining all his life there, did fcarce truft 

His own hands with the duft, 
Yet would not place one peece above, but lives 

In feare of theeves. 
Thoufands there were as frantick as himfelf, 

And hugg'd each one his pelf; 
The down-right epicure plac'd heav'n in fenfe, 

And fcorn'd pretence ; 
While others, flipt into a wide excelTe, 

Said little lefle ; 
The weaker fort flight, triviall wares inflave, 

Who think them brave, 
And poor, defpifed truth fate counting by 

Their victory. 

4- 
Yet fome, who all this while did weep and fing, 
And fing and weep, foar'd up into the Rings 

But moft would ufe no wing. 
" O fools," faid I, ** thus to prefer dark night 



u6 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Before true light! 
To live in grots and caves, and hate the day 

Becaufe it fhews the way, 
The way, which from this dead and dark abode 

Leads up to God, 
A way where you might tread the Sun, and be 

More bright than he !" 
But, as I did their madnes fo difcufTe, 

One whifper'd thus, 
This Ring the Bride-groome did for none provide, 

But for bis Bride. 

John i ft Ep. cap. 2. ver. 16, 17. 

All that is in the world, the luft of the flejh, the 
luft of the eye, and the pride of life, is not of the Fa- 
ther, but is of the world. 

And the world pajfeth away, and the lufts thereof V 
but he that doth the will of God abideth for ever. 



The Mutinie. 

Ti EARY of this fame clay and ftraw, I laid 
Me down to breathe, and calling in my 
heart 
The after-burthens and griefs yet to come, 

The heavy fum 
So fhook my breft, that, fick and fore difmai'd, 
My thoughts, like water, which fome ftone doth ftart, 
Did quit their troubled channel, and retire 
Unto the banks, where, ftorming at thofe bounds, 
They murmur'd fore ; But I, who felt them boyl 




OR SACRED POEMS. 117 

And knew their coyl, 
Turning to him, who made poor fand to tire 
And tame proud waves, If yet thefe barren grounds 
And thirftie brick mult be, faid I, 

My tafke and deftinie, 

2. 
Let me fo ftrive and ftruggle with thy foes, 
(Not thine alone, but mine too,) that when all 
Their arts and force are built unto the height, 

That Babel-weight 
May prove thy glory, and their fhame ; fo clofe 
And knit me to thee, that though in this vale 
Of fin and death I fojourn, yet one eie 
May look to Thee, to Thee the Finifher 
And Author of my faith ; fo fhew me home, 

That all this foam 
And frothie noife, which up and down doth flie, 
May find no lodging in mine eie or eare ; 
O feal them up ! that thefe may flie 

Like other tempefls by. 

3- 

Not but I know thou haft a fhorter cut 

To bring me home, than through a wildernes, 

A fea, or fands and ferpents ; yet fince thou, 

As thy words fhow, 
Though in this defart I were wholly fhut, 
Canft light and lead me there with fuch redrefs 
That no decay fhal touch me ; O be pleas'd 
To fix my fteps ; and whatfoever path 
Thy facred and eternall will decreed 

For thy bruis'd reed, 
O give it full obedience, that fo feiz'd 
Of all I have, I may nor move thy wrath 



n8 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Nor grieve thy Dove, but foft and mild 
Both live and die thy Child. 

Revel, cap. 2. ver. 17. 
To him that overcometh will I give to eate of the 
hidden Manna ; a?id I will give him a white Jione, 
and in the ftone a new name written, which no man 
knoweth,faving he that receiveth it. 



The Conftellatiorte 

P AIR, ordered lights, whofe motion without 
noife 
Refembles thole true joys, 
Whofe ipring is on that hill where you do grow, 
And we here tafle fometimes below. 

With what exa£l obedience do you move, 

Now beneath, and now above ! 
And in your vail progreffions overlook 
The darkeil night and clofeft nook ! 

Some nights I fee you in the gladfome Eaft, 

Some others near the Weft, 

And when I cannot fee, yet do you mine, 

And beat about your endles line. 

Silence and light and watchfulnes with you 

Attend and wind the clue ; 
No fleep nor floth aflailes you, but poor man 
Still either fleeps, or flips his fpan. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 119 

He gropes beneath here, and with relllefs care, 

Firfl makes, then hugs a mare ; 
Adores dead dull, fets heart on corne and grafs, 
But feldom doth make heav'n his glafs. 

Mufick and mirth, if there be mufick here, 

Take up and tune his year ; 
Thefe things are kin to him, and muft be had ; 
Who kneels, or fighs a life, is mad. 

Perhaps fome nights he'll watch with you, and peep 

When it were bell to ileep ; 
Dares know effects, and judge them long before, 
When th' herb he treads knows much, much 
more. 

But feeks he your Obedience , Order, Light, 

Your calm and wel-train'd flight ? 
Where, though the glory differ in each liar, 
Yet is there peace Hill and no war. 

Since plac'd by Him, who calls you by your names, 

And fixt there all your flames, 
Without command you never acted ought, 
And then you in your courfes fought. 

But here, commiffion'd by a black felf-will, 

The fons the father kill, 
The children chafe the mother, and would heal 
The wounds they give by crying zeale. 

Then call her bloud and tears upon thy book, 

Where they for fafhion look ; 
And, like that Lamb, which had the Dragon's voice, 
Seem mild, but are known by their noife. 



izo SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thus by our lulls diforder'd into wars 

Our guides prove wandring liars, 
Which for thefe mifls and black days were referv'd, 
What time we from our firfl love fwerv'd. 

Yet O, for his fake who fits now by thee 

All crown'd with victory, 
So guide us through this darknes, that we may 
Be more and more in love with day ! 

Settle and fix our hearts, that we may move 

In order, peace, and love ; 
And, taught obedience by thy whole creation, 
Become an humble, holy nation ! 

Give to thy fpoufe her perfect and pure drefs, 

Beauty and holinefs ; 
And fo repair thefe rents, that men may fee 
And fay, Where God is, all agree. 



The Shepheards. 

WEET, harmlefs livers ! on whofe holy leifure 
Waits Innocence and Pleafure, 
Whofe leaders to thofe paltures and cleer 
fprings 
Were Patriarchs, Saints, and Kings ; 
How happend it that in the dead of night 

You only faw true light, 
While Paleftine was fall afleep, and lay 

Without one thought of day ? 
Was it becaufe thofe firll and blelfed fwains 
Were pilgrims on thofe plains, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 121 

When they receiv'd the promife, for which now 

'Twas there firft mown to you ? 
'Tis true, he loves that dull whereon they go 

That ferve him here below, 
And therefore might for memory of thofe 

His love there firft difclofe ; 
But wretched Salem once his love, mull now 

No voice nor virion know, 
Her ilately piles with all their height and pride 

Now languifhed and died, 
And Betblem's humble cotts above them ftept, 

While all her feers ilept ; 
Her cedar, iirr, hew'd Hones, and gold were all 

Polluted through their fall, 
And thofe once facred manfions were now 

Meer emptinefs and fhow. 
This made the Angel call at reeds and thatch, 

Yet where the fhepheards watch, 
And God's own lodging, though he could not lack, 

To be a common Rack 5 
No coftly pride, no foft-cloath'd luxurie, 

In thofe thin eels could lie ; 
Each ftirring wind and ilorm blew through their cots, 

Which never harbour'd plots ; 
Only content and love and humble joys 

Lived there without all noife ; 
Perhaps fome harmlefs cares for the next day 

Did in their bofomes play, 
As where to lead their fheep, what filent nook, 

What fprings or (hades to look ; 
But that was all ; and now with gladfome care 

They for the town prepare ; 
They leave their flock, and in a bufie talk 

All towards Beth I em walk 



122 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

To fee their foul's great Shepheard, who was come, 

To bring all ftraglers home ; 
Where now they find him out, and, taught before, 

That Lamb of God adore, 
That Lamb whofe daies great Kings and Prophets 

And long'd to fee, but mifs'd. [wifh'd 

The firft light they beheld was bright and gay, 

And turn'd their night to day ; 
But to this later light they faw in him, 

Their day was dark and dim. 



Mifery. 

ORD, bind me up, and let me lye 
A Pris'ner to my libertie, 
If such a ftate at all can be 
As an impris'ment ferving thee ; 
The wind, though gather'd in thy fift, 
Yet doth it blow ftill where it lift, 
And yet ihouldft thou let go thy hold 
Thofe gulls might quarrel and grow bold. 

As waters here, headlong and loofe, 
The lower grounds ftill chafe and choofe, 
Where fpreading all the way they feek 
And fearch out every hole and creek ; 
So my fpilt thoughts, winding from thee, 
Take the down-rode to vanitie, 
Where they all ftray and ftrive, which fhall 
Find out the firft and fteepeft fall. 
I cheer their flow, giving fupply 
To what's already grown too high, 
And having thus perform'd that part 
Feed on thofe vomits of my heart. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 123 

I break the fence my own hands made, 
Then lay that trefpafTe in the made ; 
Some fig-leafs ftil I do devife, 
As if thou hadft nor ears nor eyes. 
ExcefTe of friends, of words, and wine 
Take up my day, while thou doft mine 
All unregarded, and thy book 
Hath not fo much as one poor look. 
If thou Ileal in amidft the mirth 
And kindly tell me, / am Earth, 
I fhut thee out, and let that flip ; 
Such mufick fpoils good fellowfhip. 
Thus wretched I and moll: unkind, 
Exclude my dear God from my mind, 
Exclude him thence, who of that cell 
Would make a court, fhould he there dwell. 
He goes, He yields ; and troubled fore 
His Holy Spirit grieves therefore ; 
The mighty God, th' eternal King 
Doth grieve for duft, and dull doth ling. 
But I go on, hafle to diveft 
My felf of reafon, till oppreft 
And buried in my furfeits I 
Prove my own fhame and miferie. 
Next day I call and cry for thee 
Who mould ft not then come neer to me ; 
But now it is thy fervant's pleafure 
Thou muft and doft give him his meafure. 
Thou doft, thou com'ft, and in a fhower 
Of healing fweets thy felf doft pour 
Into my wounds ; and now thy grace 
(I know it well,) fills all the place ; 
I fit with thee by this new light, 
And for that hour thou'rt my delight ; 



124 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

No man can more the world defpife, 
Or thy great mercies better prize. 
I fchool my eyes, and flridlly dwell 
Within the circle of my cell ; 
That calm and filence are my joys, 
Which to thy peace are but meer noife. 
At length I feel my head to ake, 
My fingers itch, and burn to take 
Some new imployment, I begin 
To fwell and foame and fret within. 
" The Age, the prefent times are not 
" To fnudge in, and embrace a cot j 
" Aclion and bloud now get the game, 
" Difdein treads on the peaceful name ; 
" Who Jits at home too bears a hade 
" Greater than thofe that gad abroad" 
Thus do I make thy gifts giv'n me 
The only quarrellers with thee ; 
I'd loofe thofe knots thy hands did tie, 
Then would go travel, fight, or die. 
Thoufands of wild and wafte infuiions 
Like waves beat on my refolutions ; 
As flames about their fuel run, 
And work and wind till all be done, 
So my fierce foul bullies about, 
And never refts till all be out. 
Thus wilded by a peevifh heart, 
Which in thy mufick bears no part, 
I ilorm at thee, calling my peace 
A Lethargy, and meer difeafe ; 
Nay thofe bright beams mot from thy eyes 
To calm me in thefe mutinies, 
I ftile meer tempers, which take place 
At fome fet times, but are thy grace. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 125 

Such is man's life, and fuch is mine, 
The worft of men, and yet ftill thine, 
Still thine, thou know'ft, and if not fo, 
Then give me over to my foe. 
Yet fince as eafie 'tis for thee 
To make man good as bid him be, 
And with one glaunce, could he that gain, 
To look him out of all his pain, 
O fend me from thy holy hill 
So much of flrength, as may fulfil 
All thy delights, whate'er they be, 
And facred inflitutes in me ! 
Open my rockie heart, and fill 
It with obedience to thy will ; 
Then feal it up, that as none fee, 
So none may enter there but Thee. 

O hear, my God ! hear Him, whofe bloud 
Speaks more and better for my good ! 
O let my crie come to thy throne ! 
My crie not pour'd with tears alone, 
(For tears alone are often foul,) 
But with the bloud of all my foul; 
With fpirit-lighs, and earneft grones, 
Faithful and moll repenting mones, 
With thefe I crie, and crying pine, 
Till thou both mend, and make me thine. 



The Sap. 

OME, faplefs bloffom, creep not ftill on earth 

Forgetting thy firft birth ! 
'Tis not from dull; or if fo, why doll thou 
Thus call and thirft for dew ? 




iz6 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

It tends not thither ; if it doth, why then 

This growth and flretch for heav'n ? 
Thy root fucks but difeafes ; worms there feat, 

And claim it for their meat. 
Who plac'd thee here did fomething then infufe, 

Which now can tell thee news. 
There is beyond the liars an hill of myrrh, 

From which fome drops fall here ; 
On it the Prince of Salem fits, who deals 

To thee thy fecret meals ; 
There is thy country, and He is the way, 

And hath withal the key. 
Yet hVd He here fometime, and bore for thee 

A world of miferie, 
For thee, who in the firfl man's loyns didfl fall 

From that hill to this vale ; 
And had not he fo done, it is moll true 

Two deaths had been thy due ; 
But going hence, and knowing well what woes 

Might his friends difcompofe, 
To fhew what flrange love He had to our good, 

He gave his facred Bloud, 
By will our fap and cordial ; now in this 

Lies fuch a heav'n of blifs, 
That who but truly tailes it, no decay 

Can touch him any way. 
Such fecret life and vertue in it lies, 

It will exalt, and rife, 
And a&uate fuch fpirits as are fhed, 

Or ready to be dead ; 
And bring new too. Get then this fap, and get 

Good flore of it, but let 
The veflel where you put it be for fure 

To all your pow'r moil pure ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 127 

There is at all times, though fhut up, in you 

A powerful, rare dew, 
Which only grief and love extract ; with this 

Be fure, and never mifs, 
To warn your velTel well : Then humbly take 

This balm for fouls that ake ; 
And one who drank it thus affures that you 

Shal find a joy fo true, 
Such perfect Eafe, and fuch a lively fenfe 

Of grace againfl all fins, 
That you'll confefs the comfort fuch, as even 

Brings to, and comes from, Heaven. 



Mount of Olives. 

'HEN firft I faw true beauty, and thy joys, 
Active as light, and calm without all noife, 
Shin'd on my foul, I felt through all my 
pow'rs 
Such a rich air of fweets, as evening fhowrs 
Fan'd by a gentle gale convey, and breathe 
On fome parch'd bank,crown'd with a flourie wreath; 
Odors, and myrrh, and balm in one rich floud 
O'er- ran my heart, and fpirited my bloud ; 
My thoughts did fwim in comforts, and mine eie 
Confeft, The world did only paint and lie. 
And where before I did no fafe courfe fteer, 
But wander'd under tempefts all the year ; 
Went bleak and bare in body as in mind, 
And was blow'n through by every ftorm and wind, 




128 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

I am fo warm'd now by this glance on me, 
That midft all ftorms I feel a ray of thee. 
So have I known fome beauteous Paifage rife 
In fuddain flowres and arbours to my eies, 
And in the depth and dead of winter bring 
To my cold thoughts a lively fenfe of fpring, 

Thus fed by thee, who doft all beings nourifh, 
My wither'd leafs again look green and flouriih ; 
I mine and fhelter underneath thy wing, 
Where lick with love I ftrive thy name to ling ; 
Thy glorious name ! which grant I may fo do, 
That thefe may be thy Praife> and my Joy too ! 



Man. 

SIGHING the Itedfaftnefs and ftate 
Of fome mean things which here below 
refide, 
Where birds like watchful clocks the noifelefs date 

And intercourfe of times divide, 
Where bees at night get home and hive, and flowrs, 

Early as well as late, 
Rife with the fun, and fet in the fame bowrs ; 

2. 

I would, faid I, my God would give 
The ftaidnefs of thefe things to man ! for thefe 
To His divine appointments ever cleave, 

And no new bufinefs breaks their peace ; 
The birds nor fow nor reap, yet fup and dine, 
The flowres without clothes live, 
Yet Solomon was never dreil fo fine. 




OR SJCRED POEMS. 



129 



3- 
Man hath ftill either toyes or care ; 
He hath no root, nor to one place is ty'd, 
But ever reftlefs and irregular 

About this earth doth run and ride. 
He knows he hath a home, but fcarce knows where ; 

He fayes it is fo far, 
That he hath quite forgot how to go there. 

4- 
He. knocks at all doors, ftrays and roams ; 
Nay hath not fo much wit as fome ftones have, 
Which in the darker!: nights point to their homes 

By fome hid fenfe their Maker gave ; 
Man is the fhuttle, to whofe winding quell 

And pafTage through thefe looms 
God order'd motion, but ordain'd no reft. 



f [The Hidden Flower.] 

WALKT the other day, to fpend my hour, 

Into a field, 
Where I fometimes had feen the foil to yield 
A gallant flowre ; 
But Winter now had ruffled all the bowre 
And curious ftore 
I knew there heretofore. 

2. 

Yet I, whofe fearch lov'd not to peep and peer 
F th' face of things, 

K 




130 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thought with my felf, there might be other fprings 

Befides this here, 
Which, like cold friends, fees us but once a year ; 

And fo the flowre 
Might have fome other bowre. 

3- 

Then taking up what I could neerefl fpie, 

I digg'd about 
That place where I had feen him to grow out ; 

And by and by 
I faw the warm Reclufe alone to lie, 

Where frefh and green 
He lived of us unfeen. 

4- 

Many a queflion intricate and rare 

Did I there flrow ; 
But all I could extort was, that he now 

Did there repair 
Such lofTes as befel him in this air, 

And would ere long 
Come forth moll fair and young. 

5- 

This paft, I threw the clothes quite o'er his head ; 

And flung with fear 
Of my own frailty dropt down many a tear 

Upon his bed ; 
Then lighing whifper'd, Happy are the dead! 

What peace doth now 
Rock him ajleep below ! 

6. 

And yet, how few believe fuch dottrine fprings 
From a poor root, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 131 

Which all the Winter deeps here under foot, 

And hath no wings 
To raife it to the truth and light of things ; 

But is ftil trod 
By ev'ry wandring clod. 

7- 

O Thou ! whofe Spirit did at firft inflame 

And warm the dead, 
And by a facred incubation fed 

With life this frame, 
Which once had neither being, forme, nor name ; 

Grant I may fo 
Thy iteps track here below, 



That in thefe mafques and fhadows I may fee 

Thy facred way ; 
And by thofe hid afcents climb to that day, 

Which breaks from Thee, 
Who art in all things, though invifibly ! 

Shew me thy peace, 
Thy mercy, love, and eafe ! 

9- 

And from this care, where dreams and forrows raign, 

Lead me above, 
Where Light, Joy, Leifure, and true comforts move 

Without all pain ; 
There, hid in thee, fhew me his life again, 

At whofe dumbe urn 
Thus all the year I mourn ! 




i 3 2 SILEX SCINTILLJNS. 



Begging. 

|f ING of Mercy, King of Love, 

In whom I live, in whom I move, 
Perfect what thou haft begun, 

Let no night put out this Sun. 

Grant I may, my chief defire, 

Long for thee, to thee afpire. 

Let my youth, my bloom of dayes 

Be my comfort, and thy praife ; 

That hereafter, when I look 

O'er the fullyed, linful book, 

I may find thy hand therein 

Wiping out my fhame and fin. 

O ! it is thy only art 

To reduce a ftubborn heart ; 

And fince thine is vidlorie, 

Strongholds ihould belong to thee 

Lord, then take it, leave it not 

Unto my difpofe or lot ; 

But fince I would not have it mine, 

O my God, let it be thine ! 



Jude, ver. 24, 25. 

Now unto him that is able to keep us from falling, 
and to prefent us faultlefs before the prefence of his 
glory with exceeding joy. 

To the only wife God, our Saviour, be glory, and 
majefty, dominion and power, now and ever, Amen. 

End of the First Part. 







SILEX SCINTILLANS. 
PART II. 

Afcenfion-day. 

?ORD JESUS ! with what fweetnefs and 
delights, 
§ure, holy hopes, high joys, and quickning 
flights, 

Doft thou feed thine ! O thou ! the hand that lifts 
To Him who gives all good and perfeft gifts, 
Thy glorious, bright Afcenfion, though remov'd 
So many ages from me, is fo prov'd 
And by thy Spirit feal'd to me, that I 
Feel me a (harer in thy vidiory ! 
I foar and rife 
Up to the ikies, 

Leaving the world their day; 
And in my flight 
For the true light 

Go feeking all the way ; 
I greet thy Sepulchre, falute thy Grave, 
That bleft inclofure, where the Angels gave 
The firft glad tidings of thy early light, 
And refurre6tion from the earth and night. 
I fee that morning in thy Convert's* tears, 
Frefh as the dew, which but this dawning wears. 

* St. Mary Magdalene. 



i 3 4 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

I fmell her fpices ; and her ointment yields, 

As rich a fcent as the now primros'd -fields. 

The day-flar fmiles, and light with the deceafl 

Now mines in all the chambers of the Eafl. 

What flirs, what polling intercourfe and mirth 

Of Saints and Angels gloriiie the earth ? 

What fighs, what whifpers, bufie Hops and flays ; 

Private and holy talk fill all the ways ? 

They pafs as at the lafl great day, and run 

In their white robes to feek the rifen Sun ; 

I fee them, hear them, mark their hafle, and move 

Amongfl them, with them, wing'd with faith and love. 

Thy forty days more fecret commerce here 

After thy death and funeral, fo clear 

And indifputable, fhews to my fight 

As the Sun doth, which to thofe days gave light. 

I walk the fields of Bethany, which fhine 

All now as frefh as Eden, and as fine. 

Such was the bright world on the firfl feventh day, 

Before man brought forth fin, and fin decay ; 

When like a Virgin clad in flowers and green 

The pure earth fat, and the fair woods had feen 

No frofl, but flourifh'd in that youthful veft, 

With which their great Creator had them drefl : 

When Heav'n above them fhin'd like molten glafs, 

While all the planets did unclouded pafs ; 

And fprings, like difTolv'd pearls, their flreams did pour, 

Ne'er marr'd with floods, nor angered with a fhowre. 

With thefe fair thoughts I move in this fair place, 

And the lafl fleps of my milde Mailer trace. 

I fee Him leading out his chofen train 

All fad with tears, which like warm fummer rain 

In filent drops fleal from their holy eyes, 

Fix'd lately on the Crofs, now on the Ikies. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 135 

And now, eternal Jefus ! thou doft heave 
Thy bleffed hands to blefs thofe thou doll leave. 
The cloud doth now receive thee, and their ftght 
Having loft thee, behold two men in white ! 
Two and no more : what two atteft is true, 
Was thine own anfwer to the ftubborn Jew. 
Come then, thou faithful witnefs ! come, dear Lord, 
Upon the clouds again to judge this world ! 



Afcenfion-Hymn. 

|UST and clay, 
Man's antient wear, 
Here you muft flay, 
But I elfewhere ! 
Souls fojourn here, but may not reft; 
Who will afcend muft be undreft. 

And yet fome, 

That know to die 

Before death come, 

Walk to the fkie 
Even in this life ; but all fuch can 
Leave behinde them the old Man. 

If a ftar 

Should leave the fphasre, 

She muft firft mar 

Her flaming wear, 
And after fall, for in her drefs 
Of glory, fhe cannot tranfgrefs. 




136 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Man of old 

Within the line 

Of Eden could 

Like the Sun fhine, 
All naked, innocent, and bright, 
And intimate with Heav'n, as light ; 

But fince he 

That brightnefs foil'd, 

His garments be 

All dark and fpoil'd, 
And here are left as nothing worth, 
Till the Refiner's fire breaks forth. 

Then comes He 

Whofe mighty light 

Made his cloathes be 

Like Heav'n all bright ; 
The Fuller, whofe pure blood did flow, 
To make ftain'd man more white than fnow. 

Hee alone 

And none elfe can 

Bring bone to bone 

And rebuild man ; 
And by his all-fubduing might 
Make clay afcend more quick than light. 



% [Departed Friends.] 

HEY are all gone into the world of light ! 

And I alone fit lingring here ! 
Their very memory is fair and bright, 
And my fad thoughts doth clear. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 137 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breft 
Like itars upon fome gloomy grove, 
Or thofe faint beams in which this hill is drefl 
After the Sun's remove. 

I fee them walking in an air of glory, 

Whofe light doth trample on my days ; 
My days, which are at bell but dull and hoary, 
Meer glimmering and decays. 

O holy Hope ! and high Humility ! 

High as the Heavens above ! 
Thefe are your walks, and you have fhew'd them me 
To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous death ; the Jewel of the Jufl ! 

Shining no where but in the dark ; 
What myfleries do lie beyond thy dull, 
Could man outlook that mark ! 

He that hath found fome fledg'd bird's nefl may know 

At firfl fight if the bird be flown ; 
But what fair dell or grove he rings in now, 
That is to him unknown. 

And yet, as Angels in fome brighter dreams 
Call to the foul when man doth fleep, 
So fome flrange thoughts tranfcend our wonted theams, 
And into glory peep. 

If a flar were confin'd into a tomb, 

Her captive flames mull needs burn there ; 
But when the hand that lockt her up gives room, 
She'll fhine through all the fphaere. 




138 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

O Father of eternal life, and all 
Created glories under thee ! 
Refume thy fpirit from this world of thrall 
Into true liberty ! 

Either difperfe thefe mills, which blot and fill 

My perfpedtive ftill as they pafs ; 
Or elfe remove me hence unto that hill, 
Where I fhall need no glafs. 



White Sunday. 

ELLCOME, white day ! a thoufand Suns, 
i Though feen at once, were black to thee ! 
For after their light darknefs comes ; 
But thine mines to eternity. 

Thofe flames, which on the Apoftles rufh'd 
At this great feaft, and in a tyre 
Of cloven Tongues their heads all brufh'd, 
And crown'd them with prophetic fire, — 

Can thefe new lights be like to thofe, 
Thefe lights of Serpents like the Dove ? 
Thou had ft no gall ev'n for thy foes, 
And thy two wings were Grief and Love. 

Though then fome boaft that fire each day, 
And on ChrirVs coat pin all their ihreds ; 
Not fparing openly to fay, 
His candle fhines upon their heads ; 

Yet while fome rays of that great light 
Shine here below within thy Book, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 139 

They never fhall fo blinde my fight 
But I will know which way to look. 

For though thou doeft that great light lock, 
And by this lefler commerce keep : 
Yet by thefe glances of the flock 
I can difcern wolves from the fheep. 

Not but that I have wilhes too, 
And pray, Tbefe laft may he as fir ft, 
Or better ; but thou long ago 
Haft faid, Thefe laft Jbould be the worft* 

Befides, thy method with thy own, 
Thy own dear people, pens our times ; 
Our ftories are in theirs fet down, 
And penalties fpread to our crimes. 

Again, if worft and worft implies 
A State that no redrefs admits, 
Then from thy Crofs unto thefe days 
The rule without exception fits. 

And yet, as in night's gloomy page 
One filent liar may interline ; 
So in this laft and lewdeft age 
Thy antient love on fome may mine. 

For though we hourly breathe decays, 
And our beft note and higheft eafe 
Is but meer changing of the keys, 
And a confumption that doth pleafe ; 

Yet thou the great eternal Rock 
Whofe height above all ages fhines, 



Ho SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Art ftill the fame, and canft unlock 
Thy waters to a foul that pines. 

Since then thou art the fame this day 
And ever as thou wert of old, 
And nothing doth thy love allay, 
But our heart's dead and finful cold ; 

As thou long fince wert pleas'd to buy 
Our drown'd eftate, taking the Curfe 
Upon thy felf, fo to deftroy 
The knots we tyed upon thy purfe, 

So let thy grace now make the way 
Even for thy love ; for by that means 
We, who are nothing but foul clay, 
Shall be fine gold which thou didft cleanfe. 

O come ! refine us with thy fire ! 
Refine us ! we are at a lofs. 
Let not thy liars for Balaam's hire 
DiiTolve into the common drofs ! 



The Proffer. 

rSfgjE (till, black Parafites, 
Flutter no more ; 




Were it flill winter, as it was before, 
You'd make no flights ; 
But now the dew and fun have warm'd my bowres, 
You flie and flock to fuck the flowers. 

But you would honey make : 
Thefe buds will wither, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 141 

And what you now extracl, in harder weather 

Will ferve to take ; 
Wife hufbands will, you fay, their wants prevent, 
Who do not fo too late repent. 

O poyfonous, fubtile fowls ! 

The flyes of hell, 

That buz in every ear, and blow on fouls, 

Until they fmell, 
And rot, defcend not here, nor think to flay ! 
I've read, who 'twas drove you away. 

Think you thefe longing eyes, 
Though lick and fpent, 
And almoft famiih'd, ever will confent 

To leave thofe ikies, 

That glafs of fouls and fpirits, where well drefl 

They fhine in white, like ftars, and reft. 

Shall my fhort hour, my inch, 
My one poor fand, 
And crum of life now ready to difband, 

Revolt and flinch ; 
And having born the burthen all the day, 
Now caft at night my crown away ? 

No, No ; I am not he ; 
Go feek elfewhere ! 
I fkill not your fine tinfel, and falfe hair, 

Your forcery, 
And fmooth feducements : Fie not fluff my flory 
With your poor commonwealth and glory. 

There are that will fow tares 
And fcatter death 



1 42 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Amongft the quick, felling their fouls and breath 

For any wares ; 
But when thy Matter comes, they'll finde and fee, 
There's a reward for them and thee. 

Then keep the antient way ! 
Spit out their phlegm, 
And fill thy brefl with home ; think on thy dream : 

A calm, bright day ! 
A land of flowers and fpices ! the word given. 
Ifthefe be fair, O what is Heaven! 



Cock-crowing. 

ATHER of lights ! what funnie feed, 
What glance of day haft thou confin'd 
Into this bird ? To all the breed 
This bufie ray thou haft amgn'd ; 

Their magnetifme works all night, 
And dreams of Paradife and light. 

Their eyes watch for the morning-hue, 

Their little grain expelling night 

So fhines and lings, as if it knew 

The path unto the houfe of light. 

It feems their candle, howe'r done, 
Was tinn'd and lighted at the funne. 

If fuch a tincture, fuch a touch, 
So firm a longing can impowre, 
Shall thy own image think it much 
To watch for thy appearing hour ? 




OR SACRED POEMS. 143 

»If a meer blafl fo fill the fail, 
Shall not the breath of God prevail ? 

O thou immortall light and heat ! 

Whofe hand fo fhines through all this frame, 

That by the beauty of the feat, 

We plainly fee who made the fame. 

Seeing thy feed abides in me, 
Dwell thou in it, and I in thee ! 

To fleep without thee is to die ; 

Yea, 'tis a death partakes of hell : 

For where thou dolt not clofe the eye 

It never opens, I can tell. 

In fuch a dark, ^Egyptian border, 
The fhades of death dwell and diforder. 

If joyes, and hopes, and earnefl throes, 
And hearts, whofe Pulfe beats flill for light, 
Are given to birds ; who, but thee, knows 
A love-lick foul's exalted flight ? 

Can fouls be track'd by any eye 

But his, who gave them wings to flie ? 

Onely this veyle which thou hail broke, 

And mull be broken yet in me, 

This veyle, I fay, is all the cloke, 

And cloud which Ihadows me from thee. 

This veyle thy full-ey'd love denies, 
And onely gleams and fractions fpies. 

O take it ofF ! make no delay ; 

But brum me with thy light, that I 

May mine unto a perfect day, 

And warme me at thy glorious Eye ! 
O take it off! or till it flee, 
Though with no lilie, flay with me ! 




144 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 



The Starre. 

HAT ever 'tis, whofe beauty here below 
Attracts thee thus, and makes thee ftream 

and flow, 
And wind and curie, and wink and fmile, 
Shifting thy gate and guile, 



Though thy clofe commerce nought at all imbarrs 
My prefent fearch, for eagles eye not ftarrs ; 
And ftill the lefTer by the beft 
And higheft good is bleft ; 

Yet, feeing ail things that fubfift and be 

Have their commiffions from Divinitie, 

And teach us duty, I will fee 

What man may learn from thee. 

Firft, I am fure, the Subject fo refpecled 
Is well-difpofed ; for bodies, once infected, 

Deprav'd, or dead, can have with thee 
No hold, nor fympathie. 

Next, there's in it a reftlefs, pure defire 
And longing for thy bright and vitall fire, 

Defire that never will be quench'd, 

Nor can be writh'd nor wrench'd. 

Thefe are the magnets, which fo flrongly move 
And work all night upon thy light and love ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 145 

As beauteous fhapes, we know not why, 
Command and guide the eye. 

For where defire, celeftiall, pure defire, 

Hath taken root, and grows, and doth not tire, 

There God a commerce Hates, and fheds 
His fecret on their heads. 




This is the heart he craves ; and whofo will 

But give it him, and grudge not, he fhall feel 

That God is true, as herbs unfeen 

Put on their youth and green. 



The Palm-tree. 

EARE friend, fit down, and bear awhile 
I 

this fhade, 

As I have yours long fince. This plant, 

you fee 

So prefl and bow'd, before fin did degrade 

Both you and it, had equall liberty 

With other trees ; but now fhut from the breath 

And air of Eden y like a male-content 

It thrives no where. This makes thefe weights, like 

death 
And fin, hang at him ; for the more he's bent 

The more he grows. Celeftial natures Hill 
Afpire for home. This Solomon of old 
By flowers and carvings and myfterious fkill 
Of Wings, and Cherubims, and Palms foretold. 

L 



146 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

This is the life which, hid above with Chrift 
In God, doth always (hidden) multiply, 
And fpring, and grow, a tree ne'r to be priced, 
A tree, whofe fruit is immortality. 

Here fpirits that have run their race, and fought, 
And won the fight, and have not feared the frowns 
Nor lov'd the fmiles of greatnefs, but have wrought 
Their Mailer's will, meet to receive their crowns. 

Here is the patience of the faints : this tree 
Is watered by their tears, as flowers are fed 
With dew by night ; but One you cannot fee 
Sits here, and numbers all the tears they fried. 

Here is their faith too, which if you will keep 
When we two part, I will a journey make 
To pluck a garland hence while you do fleep, 
And weave it for your head againft you wake. 



Joy- 

p-^e^E dumb, coarfe meafures; jar no more ; to 




There is no difcord but your harmony, 
Falfe, jugling founds ; a grone well dreft, where 

care 
Moves in difguife, and fighs afflict the air. 
Sorrows in white ; griefs tun'd ; a fugerd dofis 
Of wormwood, and a death's-head crown'd with 

rofes. 
He weighs not your forc'd accents, who can have 
A lefTon plaid him by a winde or wave. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 147 

Such numbers tell their days, whofe fpirits be 
Lull'd by thofe charmers to a lethargy. 

But as for thee, whofe faults long iince require 
More eyes than ftars ; whofe breath, could it afpire 
To equal winds, would prove too fhort : Thou hall 
Another mirth, a mirth, though overcaft 
With clouds and rain, yet full as calm and fine 
As thofe clear heights which above tempefts mine. 
Therefore while the various mowers 
Kill and cure the tender flowers, 
While the winds refrefh the year 
Now with clouds, now making clear, 
Be fure under pains of death 
To ply both thine eyes and breath. 
As leafs in bowers 
Whifper their hours, 
And hermit-wells 
Drop in their cells : 
So in fighs and unfeen tears 
Pafs thy folitary years, 
And going hence leave written on fome tree, 
Sighs make joy fure, and Jbaking faftens thee. 



The Favour. 

THY bright looks ! thy glance of love 
Shown, and but fhown, me from above ! 
Rare looks ! that can difpenfe fuch joy 
As without wooing wins the coy, 
And makes him mourn, and pine, and dye, 
Like a ftarv'd eaglet, for thine eye. 




148 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Some kinde herbs here, though low and far, 

Watch for and know their loving liar. 

O let no liar compare with thee ! 

Nor any herb out-duty me ! 

So fhall my nights and mornings be 

Thy time to Ihine, and mine to fee. 

The Garland. 




9 HOU, who doll flow and flourifh here below, 



5 To whom a falling liar and nine dayes' 



glory, 

Or fome frail beauty makes the bravell Ihew, 
Hark, and make ufe of this enfuing llory. 

When firll my youthfull, linfull age 

Grew mailer of my wayes, 
Appointing errour for my page, 

And darknelfe for my dayes ; 
I flung away, and with full crie 

Of wild affections, rid 
In poll for pleafures, bent to trie 

All gamellers that would bid. 
I played with lire, did counfell fpurn, 

Made life my common Hake ; 
But never thought that fire would burn, 

Or that a foul could ake. 
Glorious deceptions, gilded mills, 

Falfe joyes, phantallick flights, 
Peeces of fackcloth with filk lifts, 

Thefe were my prime delights. 
I fought choice bowres, haunted the fpring, 

Cull'd flowres and made me pofies ; 






OR SJCRED POEMS. 149 

Gave my fond humours their full wing, 

And crown'd my head with rofes. 
But at the height of this careire 

I met with a dead man, 
Who, noting well my vain abear, 

Thus unto me began : 
Deilft, fond fool, be not undone ; 

What thou haft cut to day 
Will fade at night, and with this fun 

Quite vanifh and decay. 

Flowres gathered in this world, die here ; if thou 
Would]} have a wreath that fades not, let them grow, 
And grow for thee. Who fp ares them here,Jh all find 
A garland, where comes neither rain, nor wind. 



Love-fick. 

j'ESUS, my life ! how fhall I truly love thee? 
O that thy Spirit would fo ftrongly move 
me: 

That thou wert pleafed to ftied thy grace fo fan- 
As to make man all pure love, flefh a ftar ! 
A ftar that would ne'r fet, but ever rife, 
So rife and run, as to out-run thefe ikies, 
Thefe narrow ikies (narrow to me) that barre, 
So barre me in, that I am ftill at warre, 
At conftant warre with them. O come, and rend 
Or bow the heavens ! Lord, bow them and defcend, 
And at thy prefence make thefe mountains flow, 




150 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thefe mountains of cold ice in me ! Thou art 

Refining fire, O then refine my heart, 

My foul, foul heart ! Thou art immortall heat ; 

Heat motion gives ; then warm it, till it beat ; 

So beat for thee, till thou in mercy hear ; 

So hear, that thou muft open ; open to 

A finfull wretch, a wretch that caus'd thy woe ; 

Thy woe, who caus'd his weal ; fo far his weal 

That thou forgott'ft thine own, for thou didft feal 

Mine with thy blood, thy blood which makes thee 

mine, 
Mine ever, ever ; and me ever thine. 



Trinity-Sunday. 

HOLY, blefTed, glorious three, 

Eternall witneiTes that be 

In heaven, One God in Trinitie ! 



As here on earth, when men with-flood 
The Spirit, Water and the Blood 
Made my Lord's Incarnation good : 

So let the anty-types in me 
Elected, bought, and feal'd for free, 
Be own'd, fav'd, fainted by you three ! 





OR SACRED POEMS. 151 



Pfalme 104. 

P, O my foul, and bleffe the Lord ! O God, 
My God, how great, how very great art 
thou ! 
Honour and majefty have their abode 

With thee, and crown thy brow. 

Thou cloath'ft thy felf with light, as with a robe, 

And the high, glorious heav'ns thy mighty hand 
Doth fpread like curtains round about this globe 
Of air, and fea, and land. 

The beams of thy bright chambers thou doft lay 

In the deep waters, which no eye can find ; 
The clouds thy chariots are, and thy path-way 
The wings of the fwift wind. 

In thy celeftiall, gladfome melTages 

Difpatch'd to holy fouls, fick with defire 
And love of thee, each willing angel is 
Thy minifter in fire. 

Thy arm unmoveable for ever laid 

And founded the firm earth ; then with the deep 
As with a vail thou hidft it; thy floods plaid 
Above the mountains fleep. 

At thy rebuke they fled, at the known voice 

Of their Lord's thunder they retir'd apace : 
Some up the mountains paft by fecret ways, 

Some downwards to their place. 



152 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

For thou to them a bound hall fet, a bound, 

Which, though but fand, keeps in and curbs whole 
feas : 
There all their fury, foame, and hideous found, 
Mull: languifh and decreafe 

And as thy care bounds thefe, fo thy rich love 

Doth broach the earth; and lefTer brooks lets forth, 
Which run from hills to valleys, and improve 
Their pleafure and their worth. 

Thefe to the beafts of every field give drink ; 

There the wilde afles fwallow the cool fpring : 
And birds amongft the branches on their brink 
Their dwellings have and fing. 

Thou from thy upper fprings above, from thofe 

Chambers of rain, where HeavVs large bottles lie, 
Doefr. water the parch'd hills, whofe breaches clofe, 
Heal'd by the mowers from high. 

Grafs for the cattel, and herbs for man's ufe 

Thou mak'ft to grow ; thefe, bleft by thee, the earth 
Brings forth, with wine, oyl, bread : all which infufe 
To man's heart ftrength and mirth. 

Thou giv'ft the trees their greennefs, ev n to thofe 

Cedars in Lebanon, in whofe thick boughs 
The birds their nefts build ; though the ftork doth 
The fir-trees for her houfe. [choofe 

To the wilde goats the high hills ferve for folds, 

The rocks give conies a retyring place : 
Above them the cool moon her known courfe holds, 
And the fun runs his race. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 153 

Thou makeft darknefs, and them comes the night ; 

In whofe thick fhades and filence each wilde beafl 
Creeps forth, and, pinch'd for food, with fcent and 
fight 

Hunts in an eager quell. 

The lyon's whelps impatient of delay- 
Roar in the covert of the woods, and feek 
Their meat from thee, who doeft appoint the prey, 
And feed 'it them all the week. 

This paft ; the fun mines on the earth ; and they 

Retire into their dens ; Man goes abroad 
Unto his work, and at the clofe of day 
Returns home with his load. 

O Lord my God, how many and how rare 

Are thy great works ! In wifdom haft thou made 
Them all ; and this the earth, and every blade 
Of grafs we tread declare. 

So doth the deep and wide fea, wherein are 
Innumerable, creeping things, both fmall 
And great : there mips go, and the fhipmen's fear, 
The comely fpacious whale. 

Thefe all upon thee wait, that thou maift feed 

Them in due feafon : what thou giv'ft they take ; 
Thy bounteous open hand helps them at need, 
And plenteous meals they make. 

When thou doeft hide thy face (thy face which keeps 

All things in being) they confume and mourn : 
When thou with-draw'ft their breath their vigour 
fleeps, 

And they to duft return. 



154 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Thou fend'ft thy Spirit forth, and they revive, 

The frozen earth's dead face thou doft renew. 
Thus thou thy glory through the world doft drive, 
And to thy works art true. 

Thine eyes behold the earth, and the whole ftage 

Is mov'd and trembles, the hills melt and fmoke 
With thy leaft touch; lightnings and winds that rage 
At thy rebuke are broke. 

Therefore as long as thou wilt give me breath 

I will in fongs to thy great name imploy 
That gift of thine, and to my day of death 
Thou fhalt be all my joy. 

He fpice my thoughts with thee, and from thy word 

Gather true comforts ; but the wicked liver 

Shall be confum'd. O my foul, blefs thy Lord ! 

Yea, blefs thou him for ever ! 

The Bird. 

T?ITHER thou com'ft. The bufie wind all 
night 
Blew through thy lodging, where thy own 
warm wing 
Thy pillow was. Many a fallen florin, 
For which coarfe man feems much the fitter born, 
Rain'd on thy bed 
And harmlefs head ; 

And now as frefh and chearfal as the light 
Thy little heart in early hymns doth fing 
Unto that Providence, whofe unfeen arm 




OR SACRED POEMS. 155 

Curb'd them, and cloath'd thee well and warm. 
All things that be praife Him ; and had 
Their leiTon taught them when firft made. 

So hills and valleys into tinging break ; 

And though poor flones have neither fpeech nor tongue, 

While active winds and ilreams both run and fpeak, 

Yet ftones are deep in admiration. 

Thus Praife and Prayer here beneath the fun 

Make lefTer mornings, when the great are done. 

For each inclofed fpirit is a liar 

Inlightning his own little fphasre, 
Whofe light, though fetcht and borrowed from far, 

Both mornings makes and evenings there. 

But as thefe Birds of light make a land glad, 
Chirping their folemn matins on each tree : 
So in the fhades of night fome dark fowls be, 

Whofe heavy notes make all that hear them fad. 

The turtle then in palm-trees mourns, 
While owls and fatyrs howl ; 

The pleafant land to brimflone turns, 
And all her Ilreams grow foul. 

Brightnefs and mirth, and love and faith, all flye, 
Till the day-fpring breaks forth again from high. 



The Timber. 

URE thou didfl flourifh once ! and many 
fprings, 
Many bright mornings, much dew, many 
fhowers 




156 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Paft ore thy head : many light hearts and wings, 
Which now are dead, lodg'd in thy living bowers. 

And ftill a new fuccellion lings and flies ; 

Frefh groves grow up, and their green branches 
moot 
Towards the old and ftill enduring Ikies ; 

While the low violet thrives at their root. 

But thou beneath the fad and heavy line 

Of death doth wafte all fenfelefs, cold, and dark ; 

Where not To much as dreams of light may mine, 
Nor any thought of greennefs, leaf, or bark. 

And yet, as if fome deep hate and diffent, 

Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, 

Were ftill alive, thou doft great ftorms refent, 

Before they come, and know'ft how near they be. 

Elfe all at reft thou lyeft, and the fierce breath 
Of tempefts can no more difturb thy eafe ; 

But this thy ftrange refentment after death 

Means onely thofe who broke in life thy peace. 

So murthered man, when lovely life is done, 
And his blood freez'd, keeps in the center ftill 

Some fecret fenfe, w r hich makes the dead blood run 
At his approach that did the body kill. 

And is there any murth'rer worfe than fin ? 

Or any ftorms more foul than a lewd life ? 
Or what refentient can work more within, 

Than true remorfe, when with paft fins at ftrife ? 

He that hath left life's vain joys and vain care, 
And truly hates to be detain'd on earth, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 157 

Hath got an houfe where many manfions are, 
And keeps his foul unto eternal mirth. 

But though thus dead unto the world, and ceas'd 
From fin, he walks a narrow, private way ; 

Yet grief and old wounds make him fore difpleas'd, 
And all his life a rainy, weeping day. 

For though he mould forfake the world, and live 
As meer a ftranger, as men long iince dead ; 

Yet joy itfelf will make a right foul grieve 
To think, he mould be fo long vainly led. 

But as fhades fet off light, fo tears and grief, 

Though of themfelves but a fad blubber'd ftory, 

By mewing the fin great, fhew the relief 

Far greater, and fo fpeak my Saviour's glory. 

If my way lies through deferts and wilde woods, 
Where all the land with fcorching heat is curft ; 

Better the pools fhould flow with rain and floods 
To fill my bottle than I die with thirft. 

Bleft (howers they are, and ftreams fent from above ; 

Begetting virgins where they ufe to flow ; 
The trees of life no other waters love, 

Than upper fprings, and none elfe make them grow. 

But thefe chafte fountains flow not till we dye. 
Some drops may fall before ; but a clear fpring 
And ever running, till we leave to fling 

Dirt in her way, will keep above the fkie. 

Rom. cap. 6. ver. 7. 
He that is dead y is freed from Jin. 




158 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 



The Jews. 

"HEN the fair year 

Of your Deliverer comes, 
And that long froft which now benums 
Your hearts fhall thaw ; when angels here 

Shall yet to man appear, 
And familiarly confer 
Beneath the oke and juniper ; 

When the bright Dove, 
Which now thefe many, many fprings 
Hath kept above, 
Shall with fpread wings 
Defcend, and living waters flow 
To make drie dull:, and dead trees grow ; 

O then that I 
Might live, and fee the olive bear 
Her proper branches ! which now lie 

Scattered each where; 
And, without root and fap, decay ; 
Call by the hufbandman away. 

And fure it is not far ! 
For as your fall and foul decays, 

Forerunning the bright morning ftar, 
Did fadly note His healing rayes 
Would fhine elfewhere, lince you were blind, 
And would be crofs, when God was kinde, — 

So by all figns 
Our fulnefs too is now come in ; 

And the fame fun, which here declines 
And fets, will few hours hence begin 



OR SACRED POEMS, 159 

To rife on you again, and look 
Towards old Mamre and EJhcoVs brook. 

For furely he 
Who lov'd the world fo as to give 

His onely Son to make it free, 
Whofe Spirit too doth mourn and grieve 
To fee man loft, will for old love 
From your dark hearts this veil remove. 

Faith fojourn'd iirft on earth in you, 
You were the dear and chofen flock : 

The Arm of God, glorious and true, 
Was firft reveal'd to be your rock. 

You were the eldeft childe, and when 

Your ftony hearts defpifed love, 
The yomigeft, ev'n the Gentiles, then, 

Were chear'd your jealoufie to move. 

Thus, righteous Father ! doeft thou deal 
With brutifh men ; Thy gifts go round 

By turns, and timely, and fo heal 
The loll fon by the newly found. 



Begging. 

YE do not go 1 thou know'fl, I'll dye ! 

My Spring and Fall are in thy book ! 
Or, if thou goeft, do not deny 
To lend me, though from far, one look ! 

My fins long fince have made thee flrange, 
A very flranger unto me ; 




i6o S1LEX SCINTILLANS, 

No morning-meetings fince this change, 
Nor evening-walks have I with thee. 

Why is my God thus flow and cold, 
When I am molt, moll lick and fad? 

Well fare thofe blefled days of old, 

When thou didft hear the weeping Lad!* 

O do not thou do as I did, 

Do not defpife a love-fick heart ! 
What though fome clouds defiance bid, 

Thy Sun mull mine in every part. 

Though I have fpoil'd, O fpoil not thou ! 

Hate not thine own dear gift and token ! 
Poor birds ring beft, and prettieft mow, 

When their neft is fain and broken. 

Dear Lord ! reftore thy ancient peace, 

Thy quikning friendfhip, man's bright wealth! 

And if thou wilt not give me eafe 

From ficknefle, give my fpirit health ! 



Palm-Sunday. 

|$|OME, drop your branches, ftrow the way, 
Plants of the day! 
Whom fufferings make mod green and gay. 

• IJhmael 



OR SACRED POEMS. 161 

The King of grief, the Man of forrow, 

Weeping ftill like the wet morrow, 

Your fhades and freihnefs comes to borrow. 

Put on, put on your beft array ; 
Let the joy'd road make holy-day, 
And flowers, that into fields do flray, 
Or fecret groves, keep the high- way. 

Trees, flowers, and herbs ; birds, beafts, and flones, 

That fince man fell expect with groans 

To fee the Lamb, come all at once, 

Lift up your heads and leave your moans ; 

For here comes he 

Whofe death will be 
Man's life, and your full liberty. 

Hark ! how the children flirill and high 

Hofanna cry ; 
Their joys provoke the diftant fkie, 
Where thrones and Seraphins reply ; 
And their own Angels fhine and ling, 

In a bright ring : 

Such yong, fweet mirth 

Makes heaven and earth 
Joyn in a joyful fy mphony. 

The harmlefs, yong, and happy Afs, 
(Seen long before* this came to pafs,) 
Is in thefe joys an high partaker, 
Ordain'd and made to bear his Maker. 

Dear feaft of Palms, of flowers and dew ! 
Whofe fruitful dawn fheds hopes and lights ; 

* Zechariah, chap. 9. ver. 9. 
M 



i6z SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thy bright folemnities did mew 

The third glad day through two fad nights. 

I'll get me up before the fun, 

I'll cut me boughs off many a tree, 

And all alone full early run 

To gather flowers to wellcome thee. 

Then like the Palm, though wronged I'll bear, 
I will be ftill a childe, Hill meek 

As the poor Afs which the proud jear, 
And onely my dear J ejus feek. 

If I lofe all, and mull endure 

The proverb'd griefs of holy Job, 

I care not, fo I may fecure 

But one green branch and a white robe. 



Jefus weeping. 

St. Luke, chap. 19. ver. 41. 

f LESSED, unhappy City ! dearly lov'd, 
But ftill unkinde ! Art this day nothing 
mov'd ? 
Art fenfelefs ftill ? O can'ft thou fleep 

When God himfelf for thee doth weep ? 
Stiff-necked Jews / your father's breed, 
That ferv'd the calf, not Abrdrri's feed, 
Had not the Babes Hofanna cryed, 
The ftones had fpoke what you denyed. 

Dear Jefus, weep on ! pour this latter 
Soul-quickning rain, this living water 




OR SACRED POEMS. 163 

On their dead hearts ; but (O my fears !) 
They will drink blood that defpife tears. 
My dear, bright Lord ! my Morning-liar ! 
Shed this live-dew on fields which far 
From hence long for it ! fhed it there, 
Where the flarv'd earth groans for one tear ! 

This land, though with thy heart's bleft extract fed, 
Will nothing yield but thorns to wound thy head. 



The Daughter of Herodias. 

St. Matth. chap. 14. ver. 6, iffc. 

AIN, finful Art ! who firft did fit 
Thy lewd, loath'd Motions unto founds, 
And made grave Mujtque, like wilde wit, 
Erre in loofe airs beyond her bounds ; — 

What fires hath he heap'd on his head ! 
Since to his fins, as needs it mull, 
His Art adds Hill, though he be dead, 
New, frefh accounts of blood and lull. 

Leave then,* yong Sorcerefs ; the Ice 
Will thofe coy fpirits call alleep, 
Which teach thee now to pleafef his eyes 
Who doth thy lothfome mother keep. 

* Her name ivas Salome j in pajjing over a frozen river, the 
ice broke under her, and chopt off her head. 
\ Herod Antipas. 




1 64 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

But thou haft pleas'd (o well, he fwears, 
And gratifies thy fin with vows ; 
His ihamelefs lull in publick wears, 
And to thy foft arts ftrongly bows. 

Skilful Inchantrefs, and true bred ! 
Who out of evil can bring forth good ? 
Thy mother's nets in thee were ipred, 
She tempts to inceft, thou to blood. 



Jefus weeping. 

St. John, chap. n. ver. 35. 

|* Y dear, Almighty Lord ! why doft thou 
weep ? 
Why doft thou groan and groan again ? 
And with fuch deep, 
Repeated fighs thy kinde heart pain ? 
Since the fame facred breath, which thus 

Doth mourn for us, 
Can make man's dead and fcatter'd bones 
Unite, and raife up all that dyed at once ? 

O holy groans ! groans of the Dove ! 
O healing tears ! the tears of love ! 
Dew of the dead ! which makes duft move 
And fpring, how is't that you fo fadly grieve, 
Who can relieve ? 

Should not thy fighs refrain thy ftore 
Of tears, and not provoke to more ? 




OR SACRED POEMS. 165 

Since two afftidrions may not raign 

In one at one time, as fome feign. 

Thofe blafts, which o'er our heads here ftray, 

If mowers then fall, will fhowers allay ; 

As thofe poor pilgrims oft have tryed, 

Who in this windy world abide. 

Dear Lord ! thou art all grief and love ; 
But which thou art moft, none can prove. 
Thou griev'ft, man mould himfelf undo, 
And lov'ft him, though he works thy wo. 

'Twas not that vail, almighty meafure 

Which is requir'd to make up life, 

Though purchafed with thy heart's dear treafure, 

Did breed this ftrife 
Of grief and pity in thy breft, 
The throne where peace and power reft : 
But 'twas thy love that, without leave, 
Made thine eyes melt, and thy heart heave. 
For though death cannot fo undo 
What thou haft done, but though man too 
Should help to fpoil, thou canft reftore 
All better far than 'twas before. 
Yet thou fo full of pity art, 
Pity which overflows thy heart, 
That, though the cure of all man's harm 
Is nothing to thy glorious arm, 
Yet canft not thou that free cure do, 
But thou muft forrow for him too. 

Then farewell joys ! for while I live, 
My bufinefs here (hall be to grieve : 
A grief that fhall outfhine all joys 



i66 SILEX SCINT1LLANS, 

For mirth and life, yet without noife. 
A grief, whofe Jilent dew fhall breed 
Lilies and myrrhe, where the curs'd feed 
Did fometimes rule. A grief fo bright, 
'Twill make the land of darknefs light ; 
And while too many fadly roam, 
Shall fend me fwan-like tinging home. 

Pfalm 7$. ver. 25. 
Whom have I in heaven but thee ? and there is 
none upon earthy that I dejire bejides thee. 



Providence. 

I ACRED and fecret hand ! 
By whofe affifting, fwift command 
The Angel fhewd that holy Well, 
Which freed poor Hagar from her fears, 
And turn'd to fmiles the begging tears 
Of yong, diflreffed IJhmaeL 

How in a myflick cloud 
Which doth thy ftrange fure mercies fhroud, 
Doeft thou convey man food and money, 
Unfeen by him till they arrive 
Juft at his mouth, that thanklefs hive, 
Which kills thy bees, and eats thy honey ! 

If I thy fervant be, 
Whofe fervice makes ev'n captives free, 
A flfli fhall all my tribute pay, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 167 

The fwift-wing'd raven fhall bring me meat, 
And I, like flowers, fhall ftill go neat, 
As if I knew no month but May. 

I will not fear what man 
With all his plots and power can. 
Bags that wax old may plundered be ; 

But none can fequefter or let 

A ftate that with the fun doth fet, 
And comes next morning frefh as he. 

Poor birds this doctrine fing, 
And herbs which on dry hills do fpring, 
Or in the howling wildernefs 

Do know thy dewy morning hours, 
And watch all night for mills or fhowers, 
Then drink and praife thy bounteoufnefs. 

May he for ever dye 
Who trufts not thee, but wretchedly 
Hunts gold and wealth, and will not lend 

Thy fervice nor his foul one day ! 

May his crown, like his hopes, be clay ; 
And what he faves, may his foes fpend ! 

If all my portion here, 
The meafure given by thee each year, 
Were by my caullefs enemies 

Ufurp'd ; it never fhould me grieve, 
Who know how well thou canft relieve, 
Whofe hands are open as thine eyes. 

Great King of love and truth ! 
Who would'ft not hate my froward youth, 




168 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

And wilt not leave me when grown old ; 
Gladly will I, like Pontick fheep, 
Unto my wormwood-diet keep, 

Since thou haft made thy Arm my fold. 



The Knot. 

BRIGHT Queen of Heaven ! God's Virgin 
Spoufe ! 
The glad world's blefTed maid ! 
Whofe beauty tyed life to thy houfe, 
And brought us faving ayd. 

Thou art the true Love-knot ; by thee 

God is made our allie ; 
And man's inferior EiTence He 

With His did dignifie. 

For coalefcent by that band 

We are His body grown, 
Nourifhed with favors from His hand 

Whom for our head we own. 

And fuch a Knot what arm dares loofe, 
What life, what death can fever ? 

Which us in Him, and Him in us, 
United keeps for ever. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 169 



The Ornament. 

HE lucky world fhewd me one day 
Her gorgeous Mart and glittering ftore, 
Where with proud hafte the rich made way 
To buy, the poor came to adore. 

Serious they feem'd and bought up all 
The lateffc modes of pride and lull ; 

Although the firft mufl furely fall, 
And the laft is moll loathfome dull. 

But while each gay, alluring ware 

With idle hearts and bufie looks 
They viewd, (for idlenefs hath there 

Laid up all her archives and books), 

Quite through their proud and pompous file 
Blufhing, and in meek weeds array'd, 

With native looks which knew no guile, 
Came the fheep-keeping Syrian Maid. 

Whom ftrait the mining row all fac'd, 
Forc'd by her artlefs looks and drefs ; 

While one cryed out, we are difgrac'd ! 
For fhe is braveft, you confefs. 




i 7 o SILEX SC1NTILLJNS,, 
St. Mary Magdalen. 

EAR, beauteous Saint ! more white than 
day, 
When in his naked, pure array ; 
Frefher than morning-flowers which fhew 
As thou in tears doll, beft in dew. 
How art thou chang'd, how lively, fair, 
Pleafing, and innocent an air, 
Not tutor'd by thy glafs, but free, 
Native and pure, fhines now in thee ! 
But lince thy beauty doth ftill keep 
Bloomy and frefh, why doll thou weep ? 
This dufky ftate of fighs and tears 
Durfl: not look on thofe fmiling years, 
When Magdal-caffle was thy feat, 
Where all was fumptuous, rare and neat. 
Why lies this hair defpifed now 
Which once thy care and art did fhew ? 
Who then did drefs the much lov'd toy, 
In fpires, globes, angry curls and coy, 
Which with fkilPd negligence feem'd Ihed 
About thy curious, wilde, young head ? 
Why is this rich, this piftic nard 
Spilt, and the box quite broke and marr'd? 
What pretty fullennefs did hafte 
Thy eafie hands to do this wafte ? 
Why art thou humbled thus, and low 
As earth thy lovely head doit bow ? 
Dear foul ! thou knew'fl flowers here on earth 
At their Lord's foot-ftool have their birth ; 
Therefore thy wither'd felf in hafte 
Beneath his bleft feet thou didft caft, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 171 

That at the root of this green tree 

Thy great decays reftor'd might be. 

Thy curious vanities, and rare 

Odorous ointments kept with care, 

And dearly bought, when thou didft fee 

They could not cure nor comfort thee ; 

Like a wife, early Penitent, 

Thou fadly didft to him prefent, 

Whofe interceding, meek, and calm 

Blood, is the world's all-healing Balm. 

This, this Divine Reftorative 

Call'd forth thy tears, which ran in live 

And hafty drops, as if they had 

(Their Lord fo near) fenfe to be glad. 

Learn, Ladies, here the faithful cure 

Makes beauty lafting, freih and pure ; 

Learn Mary's art of tears, and then 

Say Tou have got the day from men. 

Cheap, mighty Art ! her Art of love, 

Who lov'd much, and much more could move ; 

Her Art ! whofe memory muft laft 

Till truth through all the world be paft ; 

Till his abus'd, defpifed flame 

Return to Heaven, from whence it came, 

And fend a fire down, that lhall bring 

Deftruclion on his ruddy wing. 

Her Art ! whofe penfive, weeping eyes, 

Were once fins loofe and tempting fpies ; 

But now are fixed ftars, whofe light 

Helps fuch dark ftraglers to their fight. 

Self-boafting Pharifee ! how blinde 
A judge wert thou, and how unkinde ! 



172 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

It was impoflible, that thou, 

Who wert all falfe fhould'ft true grief know. 

Is't juft to judge her faithful tears 

By that foul rheum thy falfe eye wears ? 

This Woman, fay 'ft thou, is a finner ! 
And fate there none fuch at thy dinner? 
Go Leper, go ! warn till thy flefh 
Comes like a childe's, fpotlefs and frelh ; 
He is ftill leprous that ftill paints : 
Who faint themfelves, they are no faints. 



The Rain-bow. 

^§ TILL young and fine ! but what is ftill in 




view 
We flight as old and foiPd, though frefh 
and new. 

How bright wert thou, when Stem's admiring eye 
Thy burnifht, flaming Arch did firft defcry ! 
When Terab, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot, 
The youthful world's gray fathers in one knot, 
Did with intentive looks watch every hour 
For thy new light, and trembled at each fhower ! 
When thou doll fhine darknefs looks white and fair, 
Forms turn to Mufick, clouds to fmiles and air : 
Rain gently fpends his honey-drops, and pours 
Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grafs and flowers. 
Bright pledge of peace and fun-fhine! the fure tye 
Of thy Lord's hand, the objeft* of His eye ! 

* Gen. chap. 9. *ver. 16. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 173 

When I behold thee, though my light be dim, 
Diftant, and low, I can in thine fee Him, 
Who looks upon thee from His glorious throne, 
And mindes the Covenant 'twixt All and One. 

foul, deceitful men ! my God doth keep 
His promife ftill, but we break ours and ileep. 
After the Fall the fir ft fin was in Blood, 

And Drunkennefs quickly did fucceed the flood ; 

But fince Chrift dyed, (as if we did devife 

To lofe him too, as well as Paradife,) 

Thefe two grand fins we joyn and act together, 

Though blood and drunkenefs make but foul, foul 

weather. 
Water, though both Heaven's windows and the deep 
Full forty days o'r the drown'd world did weep, 
Could not reform us, and blood in defpight, 
Yea God's own blood, we tread upon and flight. 
So thofe bad daughters, which God fav'd from fire, 
While Sodom yet did fmoke lay with their fire. 

Then peaceful, fignal bow, but in a cloud 

Still lodged, where all thy unfeen arrows fhrowd ; 

1 will on thee as on a Comet look, 

A Comet, the fad world's ill-boding book ; 

Thy light as ludlual and ftain'd with woes 

I'll judge, where penal flames fit mixt and clofe. 

For though fome think, thou fhin'ft but to reftrain 

Bold ftorms, and fimply doft attend on rain; 

Yet I know well, and fo our fins require, 

Thou doft but court cold rain, till Rain turns Fire. 







174 SILEX SCINTILLJNS. 

The Seed growing fecretly. 

St. Mark, chap. 4. ver. 26. 

F this world's friends might fee but once 
What fome poor man may often feel, 
0% Glory and gold and crowns and thrones, 
They would foon quit, and learn to kneel. 

My dew, my dew ! my early love, 

My foul's bright food, thy abfence kills ! 

Hover not long, eternal Dove ! 

Life without thee is loofe and fpills. 

Something I had, which long ago 
Did learn to fuck and rip and tafte ; 

But now grown lickly, fad and flow, 
Doth fret and wrangle, pine and wafte. 

O fpred thy facred wings, and ihake 
One living drop ! one drop life keeps ! 

If pious griefs Heaven's joys awake, 
O fill his bottle ! thy childe weeps ! 

Slowly and fadly doth he grow, 

And foon as left ihrinks back to ill ; 

O feed that life, which makes him blow 
And fpred and open to thy will ! 

For thy eternal, living wells 

None ftain'd or wither'd fhall come near : 
A frefh, immortal green there dwells, 

And fpotlefs white is all the wear. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 175 

Dear, fecret Greennefs ! nurft below ! 

Tempefts and windes and winter-nights, 
Vex not, that but one fees thee grow, 

That One made all thefe leiTer lights. 

If thofe bright joys He fingly fheds 
On thee, were all met in one Crown, 

Both Sun and Stars would hide their heads ; 

And Moons, though full, would get them down. 

Let glory be their bait, whofe mindes 

Are all too high for a low cell : 
Though hawks can prey through ftorms and winds, 

The poor bee in her hive muft dwell. 

Glory, the croud's cheap tinfel, ftill 
To what moll takes them is a drudge ; 

And they too oft take good for ill, 
And thriving vice for vertue judge. 

What needs a confcience calm and bright 

Within itfelf an outward teft ? 
Who breaks his glafs to take more light, 

Makes way for ftorms into his reft. 

Then blefs thy fecret growth, nor catch 
At noife, but thrive unfeen and dumb ; 

I Keep clean, bear fruit, earn life, and watch, 
Till the white-winged Reapers come ! 




i 7 6 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



% [Time's Book.] 

IS Time one day by me did pafs, 
Through a large dufky glafle 
He held, I chanc'd to look, 
And fpyed his curious Book 
Of pall days, where fad Heav'n did fried 
A mourning light upon the dead. 

Many difordered lives I faw, 

And foul records which thaw 
My kinde eyes flill, but in 
A fair, white page of thin 
And ev'n, fmooth lines, like the Sun's rays, 
Thy name was writ, and all thy days. 

O bright and happy Kalendar ! 

Where youth, mines like a liar 
All pearl'd with tears, and may 
Teach age the Holy way ; 
Where through thick pangs, high agonies, 
Faith into life breaks, and death dies. 

As fome meek night-piece which day quails, 
To candle-light unveils : 
So by one beamy line 
From thy bright lamp did mine 
In the fame page thy humble grave, 
Set with green herbs, glad hopes and brave. 

Here flept my thought's dear mark ! which dud 
Seem'd to devour like ruil ; 
But dull, I did obferve, 






OR SACRED POEMS. 177 

By hiding doth preferve ; 
As we for long and fure recruits, 
Candy with fugar our choice fruits. 

O calm and facred bed, where lies 
In death's dark myfteries 
A beauty far more bright 
Than the noon's cloudlefs light; 
For whofe dry duft green branches bud, 
And robes are bleach'd in the Lamb's blood. 

Sleep, happy afhes ! blefTed fleep ! 

While haplefle I ftill weep ; 

Weep that I have out-liv'd 

My life, and unreliev'd 
Muft, foul-lefle fhadow, fo live on, 
Though life be dead, and my joys gone. 



% [Religion.] 




AIR and yong light ! my guide to holy 
Grief and foul-curing melancholy; 
Whom living here I did ftill fhun 

As fullen night- ravens do the fun, 

And led by my own foolim fire 

Wandred through darknefs, dens, and mire. 

How am I now in love with all 

That I term'd then meer bonds and thrall ! 

And to thy name, which ftill I keep, 

Like the furviving turtle weep ! 

O bitter curs'd delights of men ! 

Our foul's difeafes iirft, and then 

N 



178 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Our body's ; poyfons that intreat 

With fatal fweetnefs, till we eat ; 

How artfully do you deftroy, 

That kill with fmiles and feeming joy ! 

If all the fubtilties of vice 

Stood bare before unpractic'd eyes, 

And every act ifhe doth commence 

Had writ down its fad confequence, 

Yet would not men grant their ill fate 

Lodged in thofe falfe looks, till too late, 

holy, happy, healthy heaven, 
Where all is pure, where all is even, 
Plain, harmlefs, faithful, fair, and bright, 
But what earth breaths againft thy light ! 
How bleft had men been, had their Sire 
Liv'd Hill in league with thy chafte fire ; 
Nor made life through her long defcents 
A Have to luftful elements ! 

1 did once read in an old book, 
Soil'd with many a weeping look, 
That the feeds of foul for rows be 
The fin eft things that are to fee. 

So that fam'd fruit, which made all dye 
Seem'd fair unto the woman's eye. 
If thefe fupplanters in the made 
Of Paradife could make man fade, 
How in this world mould they deter 
This world, their fellow-murtherer ! 
And why then grieve we to be fent 
Home by our rlrit fair punifhment, 
Without addition to our woes 
And lingring wounds from weaker foes ; 
Since that doth quickly freedom win, 
For he that's dead is freed from fin P 




OR SACRED POEMS. 179 

O that I were winged and free 
And quite undreft juft now with thee, 
Where freed fouls dwell by living fountains 
On everlafting, fpicy mountains ! 

Alas ! my God ! take home thy fheep; 

This world but laughs at thofe that weep. 



The Stone, 

Jojh. chap. 24. ver. 27. 

HAVE it now : 

But where to act that none mail know ; 

Where I mall have no caufe to fear 
An eye or ear, 
What man will mow ? 
If nights, and fhades, and fecret rooms, 

Silent as tombs, 
Will not conceal nor alfent to 
My dark defigns, what mall I do ? 
Man I can bribe, and woman will 
Confent to any gainful ill, 
But thefe dumb creatures are fo true, 
No gold nor gifts can them fubdue. 
Hedges have ears, faith the old footh, 
And evry bujh is fomething's booth / 
This cautious fools miflake, and fear 
Nothing but man when ambunYd there. 

But I, alas ! 
Was fho'wn one day in a ftrange glafs 
That bufie commerce kept between 
God and his creatures, though unfeen. 



180 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

They hear, fee, fpeak, 
And into loud difcoveries break, 
As loud as blood. Not that God needs 
Intelligence, whofe Spirit feeds 
All things with life, before whofe eye, 
Hell and all hearts flark naked lye. 
But he* that judgeth as he hears, 
He that accufeth none, fo fleers 
His righteous courfe, that though he knows 
All that man doth, conceals or mows, 
Yet will not he by his own light, 
Though both all-feeing and all right, 
Condemn men ; but will try them by 
A procefs, which ev'n man's own eye 
Mull needs acknowledge to be jufl. 

Hence fand and dufl 
Are fhak'd for witneiles, and flones, 
Which fome think dead, fhall all at once 
With one attefling voice detect 
Thofe fecret fins we leafl fufpec"l. 
For know, wilde men, that when you erre 
Each thing turns Scribe and Regiller, 
And, in obedience to his Lord, 
Doth your moil private fins record. 

The Law delivered to the Jews, 
Who promis'd much, but did refufe 
Performance, will for that fame deed 
Againfl them by & ft one proceed ; 
Whofe fubflance, though 'tis hard enough, 
Will prove their hearts more iliffand tuff. 

* John, chap. 5. ver. 30, 45. 






OR SACRED POEMS. 181 

But now, fince God on himfelf took 
What all mankindc could never brook, 
If any (for He all invites) 
His eafie yoke rejects or flights, 
The Go/pel then, for 'tis His word, 
And not himfelf,* fhall judge the world, 
Will by loofe Duft that man arraign, 
As one than duft more vile and vain. 



The Dwelling-Place. 

St. John, chap. i. ver. 38, 39. 

"HAT happy, fecret fountain, 
Fair made, or mountain, 
Whofe undifcover'd virgin glory 
Boafts it this day, though not in ftory, 
Was then thy dwelling ? did fome cloud, 
Fix'd to a tent, defcend and fhrowd 
My diftreft Lord ? or did a ftar, 
Beckon'd by thee, though high and far, 
In fparkling fmiles hafte gladly down 
To lodge light and increafe her own ? 
My dear, dear God ! I do not know 
What lodged thee then, nor where, nor how ; 
But I am fure thou doft now come 
Oft to a narrow, homely room, 
Where thou too haft but the leaft part ; 
My God, I mean my finful heart. 

* 5. John, chap. 12. ver. 47, 48. 





i8z SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

The Men of War. 

S. Luke, chap. 23. ver. 11. 

\ F any have an ear, 

Saith holy John* then let him hear! 

He, that into captivity 
Leads others, Jhall a captive be. 
Who with the /word doth others kill, 
A /word Jhall his blood likezvife fpill. 
Here is the patience of the Saints, 
And the true faith which never faints. 

Were not thy word, dear Lord ! my light, 
How would I run to endlefs night, 
And perfecuting thee and thine, 
Enact for Saints myfelf and mine ! 
But now enlighten'd thus by thee, 
I dare not think fuch villany ; 
Nor for a temporal felf-end 
Succefsful wickednefs commend. 
For in this bright, inftruc~ling verfe 
Thy Saints are not the conquerors ; 
But patient, meek, and overcome 
Like thee, when fet at naught and dumb. 
Armies thou hall in Heaven, which fight 
And follow thee all cloath'd in white ; 
But here on earth, though thou hadfl need, 
Thou wouldlt no legions, but would ft bleed. 
The fword wherewith thou doft command 
Is in thy mouth, not in thy hand, 
* ReveL chap. 13. *w; 10. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 183 

And all thy Saints do overcome 

By thy blood, and their Martyrdom. 

But feeing Soldiers long ago 

Did fpit on thee, and fmote thee too ; 

Crown'd thee with thorns, and bow'd the knee, 

Bat in contempt, as ftill we fee, 

Fie marvel not at ought they do, 

Becaufe they us'd my Saviour fo ; 

Since of my Lord they had their will, 

The fervant mufl not take it ill. 

Dear J ejus, give me patience here, 
And faith to fee my crown as near, 
And almofl reach'd, becaufe 'tis fure 
If I hold fail, and flight the Lure. 
Give me humility and peace, 
Contented thoughts, innoxious eafe, 
A fweet, revengelefs, quiet minde, 
And to my greatefl haters kinde. 
Give me, my God ! a heart as milde 
And plain, as when I was a childe. 
That when thy T'brone is fet, and all 
Thefe conquerors before it fall, 
I may be found preferv'd by thee 
Amongft that chofen company, 
Who by no blood here overcame 
But the blood of the blejfed Lamb. 




184 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



The Afs. 

St. Matt. chap. 21. 

HOU ! who didft place me in this bufie ftreet 
Of flefh and blood, where two ways meet : 
The one of goodnefs, peace, and life, 

The other of death, fin, and ftrife; 

Where frail vifibles rule the minde, 

And prefent things finde men moil kinde ; 

Where obfcure cares the mean defeat, 

And fplendid vice deflroys the great ; 

As thou didft fet no law for me, 

But that of perfect liberty, 

Which neither tyres, nor doth corrode, 

But is a Pillow, not a Load: 

So give me grace ever to reft, 

And build on it becaufe the beft ; 

Teach both mine eyes and feet to move 

Within thofe bounds fet by thy love ; 

Grant I may foft and lowly be, 

And minde thofe things I cannot fee ; 

Tye me to faith, though above reafon, 

Who queftion power, they fpeak treafon : 

Let me, thy Afs, be onely wife 

To carry, not fearch, myfteries. 

Who carries thee, is by thee led ; 

Who argues, follows his own head. 

To check bad motions, keep me ftill 

Amongft the dead, where thriving ill, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 185 

Without his brags and conquefls lies, 
And truth, opprefl here, gets the prize. 
At all times, whatfoe'r I do 
Let me not fail to queftion, who 
Shares in the a£i, and puts me to't? 
And if not thou, let not me do't. 
Above all, make me love the poor, 
Thofe burthens to the rich man's door ; 
Let me admire thofe, and be kinde 
To low eflates and a low minde. 
If the world offers to me nought, 
That by thy book mull not be fought, 
Or, though it mould be lawful, may 
Prove not expedient for thy way, 
To fhun that peril let thy grace 
Prevail with me to fhun the place ; 
Let me be wife to pleafe thee flill, 
And let men call me what they will. 

When thus thy milde, inflrucling hand 
Findes thy poor foal at thy command, 
When he from wilde is become wife, 
And flights that moll, which men moll prize ; 
When all things here to thirties turn 
Pricking his lips, till he doth mourn 
And hang the head, fighing for thofe 
Paflures of life, where the Lamb goes : 
O then, jufl then ! break oruntye 
Thefe bonds, this fad captivity, 
This leaden flate, which men mifcal 
Being and life, but is dead thrall. 
And when, O God ! the Afs is free, 
In a flate known to none but thee, 
O let him by his Lord be led 
To living fprings, and there be fed, 




i86 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Where light, joy, health, and perfect peace 
Shut out all pain and each difeafe ; 
Where death and frailty are forgotten 
And bones rejoyce, which once were broken ! 



The Hidden Treafure. 

S. Matt. chap. 13. ver, 44. 

HAT can the man do that fucceedsthe King?* 
Even what was done before, and no new 
thing. 

Who fhews me but one grain offincere light? 
Falfe liars, and fire-drakes, and deceits of night, 
Set forth to fool and foil thee, do not boaft ; 
Such coal-flames fhew but kitchin-rooms at moft. 
And thofe I faw fearch'd through; yea thofe and all, 
That thefe three thoufand years time did let fall 
To blinde the eyes of lookers-back, and I 
Now all is done, finde all is vanity. 
Thofe fecret fearches which afflicl the wife, 
Paths that are hidden from the Vultures eyes, 
I faw at diftance, and where grows that fruit 
Which others onely grope for and difpute. 

The world's lov'd wifdom, for the world's friends 
think 
There is none elfe, did not the dreadful brink 
And precipice it leads to bid me flie, 
None could with more advantage ufe than I. 

Man's favourite fins, thofe tainting appetites, 
Which nature breeds, and fome fine clay invites, 

* Ecclejiaftes, chap. 2. ver. 12. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 187 

With all their foft, kinde arts and eafie ftrains, 

Which ftrongly operate, though without pains, 

Did not a greater beauty rule mine eyes, 

None would more dote on, nor fo foon entice. 

But fince thefe fweets are fowre and poyfon'd here, 

Where the impure feeds flourifh all the year, 

And private tapers will but help to ftray 

Ev'n thofe, who by them would finde out the day, 

Pie feal my eyes up, and to thy commands 

Submit my wilde heart, and reftrain my hands ; 

I will do nothing, nothing know, nor fee 

But what thou bidft, and fhew'ft, and teacheft me. 

Look what thou gav'ft ; all that I do reilore, 

But for one thing, though purchas'd once before. 



Childe-hood. 

CANNOT reach it ; and my ftriving eye 

Dazles at it, as at eternity. 

Were now that Chronicle alive, 
Thofe white defigns which children drive, 
And the thoughts of each harmlefs hour, 
With their content too in my pow'r, 
Quickly would I make my path even, 
And by meer playing go to Heaven. 

Why mould men love 
A Wolf, more than a Lamb or Dove? 
Or choofe hell-fire and brimftone ftreams 
Before bright-ftars and God's own beams ? 
Who kiiTeth thorns will hurt his face, 
But flowers do both refrefh and grace ; 




188 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

And fweetly living ( fie on men /) 
Are, when dead, medicinal then. 
If feeing much mould make flaid eyes, 
And long experience mould make wife ; 
Since all that age doth teach is ill, 
Why mould I not love childe-hood ftill ? 
Why, if I fee a rock or fhelf, 
Shall I from thence call down my felf, 
Or by complying with the world, 
From the fame precipice be hurl'd ? 
Thofe obfervations are but foul, 
Which make me wife to lofe my foul. 

And yet the Pratt ice worldlings call 
Bufinefs and weighty action all, 
Checking the poor childe for his play, 
But gravely call themfelves away. 

Dear, harmlefs age ! the fliort, fwift fpan 
Where weeping virtue parts with man ; 
Where love without lull dwells, and bends 
What way w r e pleafe without felf-ends. 

An age of myfleries ! which he 
Mull live twice that would God's face fee ; 
Which Angels guard, and with it play, 
Angels ! which foul men drive away. 

How do I fludy now, and fcan 
Thee more than ere I fludyed man, 
And onely fee through a long night 
Thy edges and thy bordering light ! 
O for thy center and mid-day ! 
For fure that is the narrow way! 




S5 fc 



OR SACRED POEMS. 189 



The Night. 

S. John, chap. 3. ver. 2. 

HROUGH that pure Virgin-Jbrine, 
That facred vail drawn o'er thy glorious 
noon, 

That men might look and live, as glo-worms mine, 
And face the moon, 
Wife Nicodemus faw fuch light 
As made him know his God by night. 

Mod blefl believer he ! 
Who in that land of darknefs and blinde eyes 
Thy long expe&ed healing wings could fee, 
When thou didft rife ; 
And, what can never more be done, 
Did at mid-night fpeak with the Sun ! 

O who will tell me, where 
He found thee at that dead and filent hour ? 
What hallow'd folitary ground did bear 
So rare a flower ; 
Within whofe facred leafs did lie 
The fulnefs of the Deity ? 

No mercy-feat of gold, 
No dead and dufty cherub, nor carved flone, 
But his own living works, did my Lord hold 
And lodge alone ; 



190 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Where trees and herbs did watch and peep 
And wonder, while the Jews did fleep. 

Dear night ! this world's defeat ; 
The ftop to bufie fools ; care's check and curb ; 
The day of fpirits ; my foul's calm retreat 
Which none difturb ! 
Chrift^s* progrefs, and his prayer time ; 
The hours to which high Heaven doth chime, 

God's filent, fearching flight ; 
When my Lord's head is filled with dew, and all 
His locks are wet with the clear drops of night ; 
His Mill, loft call ; 
His knocking time ; the foul's dumb watch, 
When fpirits their fair kindred catch. 

Were all my loud, evil days 
Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent, 
Whofe peace but by fome Angel' *s wing or voice 
Is feldom rent ; 
Then I in Heaven all the long year 
Would keep, and never wander here. 

But living where the fun 
Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tyre 
Themfelves and others, I confent and run 
To ev'ry my re ; 
And by this world's ill guiding light, 
Erre more than I can do by night. 

There is in God, fome fay, 
A deep, but dazzling darknefs; as men here 

* S. Mark, chap. I. 35. S. Luke, chap, 21. 37. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 191 

Say it is late and dufky, becaufe they 
See not all clear. 
O for that night ! where I in Him 
Might live invifible and dim ! 



Abels blood. 

5^|S|?AD, purple well! whofe bubling eye 
f^SfrA Did firft againft a murth'rer cry ; 
**=zn£^ Whofe dreams (till vocal, Hill complain 
Of bloody Cain ; 
And now at evening are as red 
As in the morning when firft fhed. 

If fingle thou, 
Though fingle voices are but low, 
Could'ft fuch a fhrill and long cry rear 
As fpeaks ftill in thy Maker's ear, 
What thunders fhall thofe men arraign 
Who cannot count thofe they have flain, 
Who bath not in a fhallow flood, 
But in a deep, wide fea of blood ? 
A fea, whofe lowd waves cannot fleep, 
But deep ftill calleth upon deep : 
Whofe urgent found, like unto that 
Of many waters, beateth at 
The everlafting doors above, 
Where fouls behinde the altar move, 
And with one ftrong, inceffant cry 
Inquire How long? of the moil High ? 

Almighty Judge ! 
At whofe juft laws no juft men grudge ; 



i 9 2 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Whofe bleffed, fweet commands do pour 
Comforts, and joys, and hopes each hour 
On thofe that keep them ; O accept 
Of his vow'd heart, whom thou haft kept 
From bloody men ! and grant, I may 
That fworn memorial duly pay 
To thy bright arm, which was my light 
And leader through thick death and night ! 

Aye may that flood, 
That proudly fpilt and defpis'd blood, 
Speechlefs and calm as infants ileep ! 
Or if it watch, forgive and weep 
For thofe that fpilt it ! May no cries 
From the low earth to high Heaven rife, 
But what like his, whofe blood peace brings, 
Shall, when they rife, /peak better things 
Than AbePs doth ! may Abel be 
Still Angle heard, while thefe agree 
With his milde blood in voice and will, 
Who pray'd for thofe that did him kill ! 



Righteoufnefs. 

jgp AIR, folitary path ! whofe blefTed fhades 
The old, white Prophets planted flrft 
and dreft; 

Leaving for us, whofe goodnefs quickly fades, 
A fhelter all the way, and bowers to reft ; 

Who is the man that walks in thee ? who loves 
Heav'n's fecret folitude, thofe fair abodes, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 193 

Where turtles build, and carelefe fparrows move, 
Without to morrow's evils and future loads? 

Who hath the upright heart, the fmgle eye, 

The clean, pure hand, which never medled pitch ? 

Who fees Invijibles, and doth comply 

With hidden treafures that make truly rich ? 

He that doth feek and love 
The things above, 
Whofe fpirit ever poor is, meek, and low ; 
Who fimple Hill and wife, 
Still homewards flies, 
Quick to advance, and to retreat moil flow. 

Whofe acls, words, and pretence, 
Have all one fenfe, 
One aim and end ; who walks not by his fight ; 
Whofe eyes are both put out, 
And gees about 
Guided by faith, not by exterior light. 

Who fpills no blood, nor fpreds 
Thorns in the beds 
Of the diftreft, hailing their overthrow'; 
Making the time they had 
Bitter and fad, 
Like chronic pains, which furely kill, though flow. 

Who knows earth nothing hath 
Worth love or wrath, 
But in his Hope and Rock is ever glad. 
Who feeks and follows peace, 
When with the eafe 
And health of confeience it is to be had. 



i 9 4 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Who bears his crofs with joy, 
And doth imploy 
His heart and tongue in prayers for his foes ; 
Who lends not to be paid, 
And gives full aid 
Without that bribe which ufurers impofe. 

Who never looks on man 
Fearful and wan, 
But firmly trufls in God ; the great man's meafure 
Though high and haughty mull 
Be ta'en in dull ; 
But the good man is God's peculiar treafure. 

Who doth thus, and doth not 
Thefe good deeds blot 
With bad, or with neglect ; and heaps not wrath 
By fecret filth, nor feeds 
Some fnake, or weeds, 
Cheating himfelf — That man walks in this path. 



Anguifh. 

Y God and King ! to thee 
I bow my knee ; 
I bow my troubled foul, and greet 
With my foul heart thy holy feet. 
Caft it, or tread it ! It mail do 
Even what thou wilt, and praife thee too. 

My God, could I weep blood, 
Gladly I would ; 




OR SACRED POEMS. 195 

Or if thou wilt give me that art, 

Which through the eyes pours out the heart, 

I will exhauft it all, and make 

My felf all tears, a weeping lake. 

O ! 'tis an eaiie thing 
To write and ring ; 
But to write true, unfeigned verfe 
Is very hard ! O God, difperfe 
Thefe weights, and give my fpirit leave 
To act as well as to conceive ! 

O my God, hear my cry ; 

Or let me dye ! 




Tears. 

WHEN my God, my Glory, brings 

His white and holy train 
Unto thofe clear and living Springs 
Where comes no ftain ! 



Where all is light, and flowers, and fruit, 

And joy, and reft, 
Make me amongft them, 'tis my fuit! 
The laft one and the leaft. 

And when they all are fed, and have 

Drank of thy living ftream, 
Bid thy poor afs, with tears I crave, 
Drink after them. 



196 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Thy love claims higheft thanks, my fin 

The loweft pitch : 
But if he pays, who loves much, then 
Thou haft made beggers rich. 



Jacob's Pillow and Pillar. 

SEE the Temple in thy Pillar reared, 
And that dread glory which thy children 

i^Mi feared, 

In milde, clear vifions, without a frown, 

Unto thy folitary felf is fhown. 

*Tis number makes a Schifm : throngs are rude, 

And God himfelf dyed by the multitude. 

This made him put on clouds, and fire, and fmoke; 

Hence He in thunder to thy ofF-fpring fpoke. 

The final], ftill voice at fome low cottage knocks, 

But a ftrong wind muft break thy lofty rocks. 

The fir ft true worfhip of the world's great King 
From private and felecled hearts did fpring ; 
But He moft willing to fave all mankinde, 
Inlarg'd that light, and to the bad was kinde. 
Hence Catholkk or Univerfal came 
A moft fair notion, but a very name. 
For this rich pearl, like fome more common ftone, 
When once made publique, is efteem'd by none, 
Man flights his Maker when familiar grown, 
And fets up laws to pull his honour down. 
This God forefaw : and when flain by the crowd, 
Under that ftately and myfterious cloud 
Which his death fcatter'd, He foretold the place 



i, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 197 

And form to ferve Him in mould be true grace, 
And the meek heart ; not in a Mount, nor at 
Jerufalem, with blood of beads and fat. 
A heart is that dread place, that awfull cell, 
That fecret ark, where the milde Dove doth dwell, 
When the proud waters rage : when Heathens rule 
By God's permimon, and man turns a mule, 
This litle Gojben, in the midfl of night, 
And Satan's feat, in all her coafts hath light ; 
Yea Bethel RxvM have tithes, faith IfraeVs Hone, 
And vows and vifions, though her foes crye, None* 
Thus is the folemn temple funk agen 
Into a Pillar, and conceal'd from men. 
And glory be to his eternal Name, 
Who is contented that this holy flame 
Shall lodge in fuch a narrow pit, till He 
With His flrong arm turns our captivity ! 

But bleffed Jacob, though thy fad diftrefs 
Was juft the fame with ours, and nothing lefs ; 
For thou a brother, and blood-thirfty too, 
Didftflye,*whofe children wrought thy children's wo: 
Yet thou in all thy folitude and grief, 
On Hones didfl fleep, and found'll but cold relief; 
Thou from the Day-flar a long way didit Hand, 
And all that diftance was law and command. 
But we a healing fun by day and night, 
Have our fure Guardian, and our leading light. 
What thou didft hope for and believe we finde 
And feel, a friend moft ready, fure and kinde. 
Thy Pillow was but type and fhade at beft, 
But we the fubftance have, and on Him reft. 

* Obadiab, cbap, I. 10. Amos , chap. I. 11. 




198 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 



The Agreement. 

WROTE it down. But one that faw 
And envyed that Record, did Jince 
Such a mill over my minde draw, 
It quite forgot that purpos'd glimpfe. 
I read it fadly oft, but ftill 
Simply believ'd 'twas not my Quill. 

At length my life's kinde Angel came, 
And with his bright and bufie wing 
Scatt'ring that cloud Ihewd me the flame, 
Which ftrait like morning- liars did ling, 
And mine, and point me to a place, 
Which all the year fees the fun's face. 

O beamy book ! O my mid-day, 
Exterminating fears and night ! 
The mount, whole white afcendents may 
Be in conjunction with true light ! 

My thoughts, when towards thee they move, 
Glitter and kindle with thy love. 

Thou art the oyl and the wine-houfe ; 
Thine are the prefent healing leaves, 
Blown from the tree of life to us 

By His breath whom my dead heart heaves. 
Each page of thine hath true life in't, 
And God's bright minde exprell in print. 

Moll modern books are blots on thee, 
Their dodrine chaff and windy fits, 



OR SACRED POEMS, 199 

Darken'd along, as their fcribes be, 

With thofe foul ftorms, when they were writ ; 
While the man's zeal lays out and blends 
Onely felf-worfhip and felf-ends. 

Thou art the faithful, pearly rock, 

The hive of beamy, living lights, 
Ever the fame, whofe diffus'd flock 
Entire ftill wears out blackeft nights. 
Thy lines are rays the true Sun fheds ; 
Thy leaves are healing wings he fpreads. 

For until thou didft comfort me 

I had not one poor word to fay : 
Thick bufie clouds did multiply, 
And faid I was no childe of day ; 

They faid, my own hands did remove 
That candle given me from above. 

O God ! I know and do confefs 

My fins are great and ftill prevail, 
(Moft heynous fins and numberlefs !) 
But thy Companions cannot fail. 
If thy fure mercies can be broken, 
Then all is true my foes have fpoken. 

But while time runs, and after it 

Eternity which never ends, 
Quite through them both, ftill infinite, 
Thy Covenant by Chrift extends ; 
No fins of frailty, nor of youth, 
Can foil his merits, and thy truth. 

And this I hourly finde, for thou 

Doft ftill renew, and purge and heal : 



200 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Thy care and love, which joyntly flow, 
New cordials, new cathartics deal. 
But were I once caft off by thee, 
I know, my God ! this would not be. 

Wherefore with tears, tears by thee fent, 

I beg my faith may never fail ! 
And when in death my fpeech is fpent, 
O let that filence then prevail ! 
O chafe in that cold calm my foes, 
And hear my heart's laft private throes ! 

So thou, who did ft the work begin, 

For /, till drawn, came not to thee>* 
Wilt finifh it, and by no fin 

Will thy free mercies hindred be. 
For which, O God, I onely can 
Blefs thee, and blame unthankful man. 



The Day of Judgement. 

Ig&j DAY of life, of light, of love! 
WM ^ ne one * v ^ a y dealt from above*! 
A day fo frefh, fo bright, fo brave, 
'Twill mew us each forgotten grave, 
And make the dead, like flowers, arife 
Youthful and fair to fee new fkies. 
All other days, compar'd to thee, 
Are but light's weak minority ; 
They are but veils, and cyphers drawn 
Like clouds, before thy glorious dawn. 

* St. John, chap. 6. ver. 44. 65. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 201 

O come ! arife ! mine ! do not ftay, 

Dearly lov'd day ! 
The fields are long fince white, and I 
With earneft groans for freedom cry; 
My fellow creatures too fay, Come / 
And ftones, though fpeechlefs, are not dumb. 
When fhall we hear that glorious voice 

Oflife and joys ? 
That voice, which to each fecret bed 

Of my Lord's dead, 
Shall bring true day, and make dull fee, 
The way to immortality ? 
When fhall thofe fir ft white Pilgrims rife, 
Whofe holy, happy hiftories, 
Becaufe they fleep fo long, fome men 
Count but the blots of a vain pen? 

Dear Lord ! make hafte ! 
Sin every day commits more wafte ; 
And thy old enemy, which knows 
His time is fhort, more raging grows. 
Nor moan I onely, though profufe, 
Thy creature's bondage and abufe; 
But what is higheft fin and fhame, 
The vile defpight done to thy name ; 
The forgeries, which impious wit 
And power force on Holy Writ, 
With all deteilable defigns, 
That may difhonor thofe pure lines. 
O God ! though mercy be in thee 
The greateft attribute we fee, 
And the molt needful for our fins ; 
Yet, when thy mercy nothing wins 
But meer difdain, let not man fay 
Thy arm doth Jleep ; but write this day 



202 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Thy judging one : Defcend, defcend ! 
Make all things new, and without end ! 



Pfalm 65. 



' 




ION'S true, glorious God ! on thee 

Praife waits in all humility. 

All flefh ihall unto thee repair, 
To thee, O thou that heareft prayer ! 
But finful words and works ftill fpread 
And over-run my heart and head ; 
Tranfgreffions make me foul each day ; 
O purge them, purge them all away ! 

Happy is he, whom thou wilt choofe 

To ferve thee in thy blelTed houfe ! 

Who in thy holy Temple dwells, 

And fill'd with joy thy goodnefs tells ! 

King of Salvation ! by ftrange things 

And terrible thy juftice brings 

Man to his duty. Thou alone 

Art the world's hope, and but thee, none. 

Sailors that flote on flowing feas 

Stand firm by thee, and have fure peace. 

Thou ftill'ft the loud waves, when moft wild, 

And mak'ft. the raging people mild. 

Thy arm did firil the mountains lay, 

And girds their rocky heads this day. 

The moil remote, who know not thee, 

At thy great works aftonifh'd be. 

The outgoings of the Even and Dawn, 
In Antiphones ling to thy Name : 



OR SACRED POEMS. 203 

Thou vifit'ft the low earth, and then 
. Water'ft it for the fons of men ; 
Thy upper river, which abounds 
With fertil ftreams, makes rich all grounds ; 
And by thy mercies ftill fupplied 
The fower doth his bread provide. 
Thou water'ft every ridge of land, 
And fettleft with thy fecret hand 
The furrows of it ; then thy warm 
And opening mowers, reftrain'd from harm, 
Soften the mould, while all unfeen 
The blade grows up alive and green. 
The year is with thy goodnefs crown'd, 
And all thy paths drop fatnefs round ; 
They drop upon the wildernefs, 
For thou dolt even the defarts blefs, 
And hills [all] full of fpringing pride, „ 
Wear frefh adornments on each lide. 
The fruitful flocks fill every dale, 
And purling corn doth cloath the vale ; 
They ihout for joy, and joyntly fing, 
Glory to the eternal King ! 



The Throne. 

Revel, chap. 20. ver. 11. 

HEN with thefe eyes, clos'd now by thee, 
But then reftor'd, 
The great and white throne I mall fee 
Of my dread Lord ; 
And lowly kneeling, for the molt 




204 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Still then mull kneel, 
Shall look on him, at whole high coll, 
Unfeen, fuch joys I feel. 

Whatever arguments or {kill 

Wife heads mall ufe, 

Tears onely and my blufhes frill 
I will produce. 

And (hould thofe fpeechlefs beggers fail, 
Which oft have won, 

Then taught by thee I will prevail, 
And fay, Thy will be done! 



Death. 




HOUGH fince thy firft fad entrance by 
Jufl AbePs blood, 
'Tis now fix thoufand years well nigh, 
And ftill thy fovereignty holds good ; 
Yet by none art thou underflood. 

We talk and name thee with much eafe, 

As a tryed thing ; 
And every one can flight his leafe, 
As if it ended in a Spring, 
Which (hades and bowers doth rent-free bring. 

To thy dark land thefe heedlefs go. 
But there was One, 
Who fearch'd it quite through to and fro, 
And then, returning like the fun, 
Difcover'd ail that there is done. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 205 

And fince His death we throughly fee 

All thy dark way ; 
Thy fhades but thin and narrow be, 
Which his firft looks will quickly fray : 
Mifts make but triumphs for the day. 

As harmlefs violets, which give 

Their virtues here 
For falves and fyrups while they live, 
Do after calmly difappear, 
And neither grieve, repine, nor fear: 

So dye his fervants ; and as fure 
Shall they revive. 
Then let not dull your eyes obfcure, 
But lift them up, where Hill alive, 
Though fled from you, their fpirits hive. 



The FeafL 

^ COME away, 
Make no delay, 
Come while my heart is clean and fteddy ! 
While Faith and Grace 
Adorn the place, 

Making dull and afhes ready ! 

No blifs here lent 
Is permanent, 

Such triumphs poor flefh cannot merit; 
Short lips and fights 
Endear delights : 

Who feeks for more he would inherit. 




206 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Come then, true bread, 
Quickning the dead, 

Whofe eater mall not, cannot dye ! 
Come, antedate 
On me that ftate, 

Which brings poor duft the victory. 

Aye victory, 

Which from thine eye 

Breaks as the day doth from the eaft, 
When the fpilt dew- 
Like tears doth fhew 

The fad world wept to be releaft. 

Spring up, O wine, 
And fpringing mine 

With fome glad meffage from his heart, 
Who did, when (lain, 
Thefe means ordain 

For me to have in Him a part ! 

Such a fure part 
In his bleft heart, 

The well where living waters fpring, 
That, with it fed, 
Poor dull, though dead, 

Shall rife again, and live, and fing. 

O drink and bread, 
Which ftrikes death dead, 

The food of man's immortal being ! 
Under veyls here 
Thou art my chear, 

Prefent and fure without my feeing. 






OR SACRED POEMS. 207 

How doll thou flye 
And fearch and pry 

Through all my parts, and, like a quick 
And knowing lamp, 
Hunt out each damp, 

Whofe fhadow makes me fad or lick ! 

O what high joys ! 
The Turtle's voice 

And fongs I hear ! O quickning fhowers 
Of my Lord's blood, 
You make rocks bud, 

And crown dry hills with wells and flowers ! 

For this true eafe 
This healing peace, 

For this [ brief] tafte of living glory, 
My foul and all, 
Kneel down and fall, 

And ling his fad victorious ftory ! 

O thorny crown 
More foft than down ! 

O painful Crofs, my bed of reft ! 
O fpear, the key 
Opening the way ! 

O thy worft ftate, my onely belt ! 

O all thy griefs 
Are my reliefs, 

As all my fins thy forrows were ! 
And what can I, 
To this reply ? 

What, O God ! but a filent tear ? 



208 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Some toil and fow 
That wealth may flow, 

And drefs this earth for next year's meat: 
But let me heed 
Why thou didft bleed, 

And what in the next world to eat. 
Revel, chap. 19. ver. 9. 
BleJJed are they which are called unto the mar- 
riage Supper of the Lamb! 



The Obfequies. 

jINCE dying for me, thou didft. crave no 




Than common pay, 
Some few true tears, and thofe fhed for 

My own ill way ; 
With a cheap, plain remembrance Hill 

Of thy fad death, 
Becaufe forgetfulnefs would kill 

Even life's own breath : 
I were mod foolifh and unkinde 

In my own fenie, 
Should I not ever bear in minde, 
If not thy mighty love, my own defenfe. 
Therefore thofe loofe delights and lulls, which here 
Men call good chear, 
I will, clofe girt and tyed, 
For mourning fack-cloth w : ear all mortified. 

Not but that mourners too can have 
Rich weeds and fhrouds ; 
For fome wore White ev'n in thy grave, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 209 

And joy, like light, mines oft in clouds : 
But thou, who didft man's whole life earn, 
Doft fo invite and woo me ftill, 
That to be merry I want fkill, 
And time to learn. 
Befides, thofe kerchiefs fometimes fhed 

To make me brave, 
I cannot finde, but where thy head 

Was once laid for me in thy grave. 
Thy grave ! To which my thoughts fhall move 

Like bees in llorms unto their hive ; 
That from the murd'ring world's falfe love 

Thy death may keep my foul alive. 



The Water-fall. 

ITH what deep murmurs, through time's 
filent Health, 
Doll thy tranfparent, cool, and watry 
wealth 
Here flowing fall, 
And chide and call, 
As if his liquid, loofe retinue ftaid 
Lingring, and were of this fteep place afraid ; 
The common pafs, 
Where, clear as glafs, 
All mull defcend 
Not to an end, 
But quickned by this deep and rocky grave, 
Rife to a longer courfe more bright and brave. 

Dear ftream ! dear bank! where often I 
Have fate, and pleas'd my penfive eye ; 
p 




210 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

Why, fince each drop of thy quick flore 
Runs thither whence it flow'd before, 
Should poor fouls fear a fhade or night, 
Who came (fure) from a fea of light ? 
Or, fince thofe drops are all fent back 
So fure to thee that none doth lack, 
Why fhould frail rlefh doubt any more 
That what God takes He'll not reftore ? 

O ufeful element and clear ! 

My facred warn and cleanfer here ; 

My firfl conligner unto thofe 

Fountains of life, where the Lamb goes ! 

What fublime truths and wholefome themes 

Lodge in thy myflical, deep lb-earns ! 

Such as dull man can never finde, 

Unlefs that Spirit lead his minde, 

Which firfl upon thy face did move 

And hatch'd all with his quickning love. 

As this loud brook's inceflant fall 

In flreaming rings reflagnates all, 

Which reach by courfe the bank, and then 

Are no more feen : jufl fo pafs men. 

O my invifible eflate, 

My glorious liberty, flill late ! 

Thou art the channel my foul feeks, 

Not this with catara&s and creeks. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 211 



Quicknefs. 

jg ALSE life ! a foil, and no more, when 
Wilt thou be gone? 
$ Thou foul deception of all men, 
That would not have the true come on ! 

Thou art a moon-like toil ; a blinde 

Self-pofmg Hate ; 
A dark conteft of waves and winde ; 
A meer tempeftuous debate. 

Life is a fix'd, difcerning light, 

A knowing joy ; 
No chance, or fit; but ever bright, 
And calm, and full, yet doth not cloy. 

'Tis fuch a blifsful thing, that Hill 

Doth vivifie, 
And mine and fmile, and hath the ikill 
To pleafe without eternity. 

Thou art a toylfom mole, or lefs, 

A moving mill. 
But life is, what none can exprefs, 
A quicknefs, which my God hath kift. 

The Wreath. 

i^INCE I in llorms us'd moll to be, 
And feldom yielded flowers, 
How fhall I get a wreath for thee 
From thofe rude, barren hours ? 




212 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

The fofter dreffings of the Spring, 

Or Summer's later ftore, 
I will not for Thy temples bring, 

Which thorns, not rofes, wore. 

But a twin'd wreath of grief and praife, 
Praife foil'd with tears, and tears again 
Shining with joy, like dewy days, 
This day I bring for all thy pain ; 
Thy cauflefs pain ! and, fad as death, 
Which fadnefs breeds in the mod vain, 
(O not in vain !) now beg thy breath, 
Thy quickning breath, which gladly bears 
Through faddeft clouds to that glad place, 
Where cloudlefs quires fmg without tears, 
Sing thy juft praife, and fee thy face. 



The Queer. 

^ TELL me whence that joy doth fpring, 
Whofe diet is divine and fair, 
Which wears heaven like a bridal ring, 
And tramples on doubts and defpair ? 

Whofe Eaflern traffique deals in bright 
And boundlefs empyrean themes, 

Mountains of fpice, day-ftars and light, 
Green trees of life, and living flreams ? 

Tell me, O tell, who did thee bring, 

And here without my knowledge plac'd ; 

Till thou didft grow and get a wing, 
A wing with eyes, and eyes that tafte ? 





OR SACRED POEMS. 213 

Sure, Holynefs the magnet is, 

And Love the lure, that woos thee down : 
Which makes the high tranfcendent blifs 

Of knowing thee, To rarely known ! 

The Book. 

TERNAL God ! Maker of all 
That have liv'd here fince the man's fall ! 
The Rock of ages ! in whofe fhade 
They live unfeen, when here they fade ! 

Thou knew'ft this papyr, when it was 

Meer feed, and after that but grafs ; 

Before 'twas dreft or fpun, and when 

Made linen, who did wear it then : 

What were their lifes, their thoughts and deeds, 

Whether good corn, or fruitlefs weeds. 

Thou knew'ft this tree, when a green made 
Cover'd it, fince a cover made, 
And where it flourifh'd, grew, and fpread, 
As if it never mould be dead. 

Thou knew'ft this harmlefs beaft, when he 

Did live and feed by thy decree 

On each green thing ; then flept well fed 

Cloath'd with this Jkin, which now lies fpred 

A covering o're this aged book, 

Which makes me wifely weep, and look 

On my own duft ; meer dull it is, 

But not fo dry and clean as this. 

Thou knew'ft and faw'ft them all, and though 

Now fcatter'd thus, doft know them fo. 




2i 4 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 

O knowing, glorious Spirit ! when 
Thou (halt reftore trees, beafts and men, 
When thou malt make all new again, 
Deftroying onely death and pain, 
Give him amongft thy works a place, 
Who in them lov'd and fought thy face ! 



To the Holy Bible. 

BOOK ! life's guide ! how mall we part ; 
And thou fo long feiz'd of my heart? 
Take this laft kifs ; and let me weep 
True thanks to thee before I fleep. 

Thou wert the firft put in my hand, 
When yet I could not underftand, 
And daily didft my yong eyes lead 
To letters, till I learnt to read. 
But as rafh youths, when once grown ftrong, 
Flye from their nurfes to the throng, 
Where they new conforts choofe, and flick 
To thofe till either hurt or fick ; 
So with that firft light gain'd from thee 
Ran I in chafe of vanity, 
Cryed drofs for gold, and never thought 
My firft cheap Book had all I fought. 
Long reign'd this vogue ; and thou cart by 
With meek, dumb looks didft woo mine eye, 
And oft left open would 'ft convey 
A fudden and moft fearching ray 
Into my foul, with whofe quick touch 
Refining ftill I ftrugled much. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 21s 

By this milde art of love at length 
Thou overcam'ft my finful ftrength, 
And having brought me home, didfl there 
Shew me that pearl I fought elfewhere. 
Gladnefs, and peace, and hope, and love, 
The fecret favors of the Dove ; 
Her quickning kindnefs, fmiles and kifTes, 
Exalted pleafures, crowning bliiTes, 
Fruition, union, glory, life 
Thou didfl lead to, and ftill all ftrife. 
Living, thou wert my foul's fure eafe, 
And dying mak'ft me go in peace : 
Thy next effefts no tongue can tell ; 
Farewel, O book of God ! farewel ! 

S. Luke, chap. 2. ver. 14. 

Glory be to God in the higheft, and on earth 

Peace, good will tozvards men. 

L'Envoy. 

THE new world's new-quickning Sun ! 

Ever the fame, and never done ! 

The leers of whofe facred light 
Shall all be dreft in mining white, 
And made conformable to his 
Immortal fhape, who wrought their blifs ; 

A rife, arife ! 
And like old cloaths fold up thefe ikies, 
This long worn veyl : then ihine and fpread 
Thy own bright felf over each head, 
And through thy creatures pierce and pafs, 
Till all becomes thy cloudlefs glafs, 




216 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, 

Tranfparent as the pureft day 

And without blemifh or decay, 

Fixt by thy Spirit to a Hate 

For evermore immaculate ; 

A ftate fit for the fight of thy 

Immediate, pure, and unveil'd eye, 

A ftate agreeing with thy minde, 

A ftate thy birth and death defign'd : 

A ftate for which thy creatures all 

Travel and groan, and look and call. 

O feeing thou haft paid our fcore, 

Why mould the curfe reign any more ? 

But iince thy number is as yet 

Unfinifh'd, we mail gladly lit 

Till all be ready, that the train 

May fully fit thy glorious reign. 

Onely let not our haters brag 

Thy feamlefs coat is grown a rag, 

Or that thy truth was not here known, 

Becaufe we forc'd thy judgements down. 

Dry up their arms who vex thy Spoufe, 

And take the glory of thy houfe 

To deck their own ; then give thy faints 

That faithful zeal, which neither faints, 

Nor wildly burns, but meekly ftill 

Dares own the truth, and mew the ill. 

Fruftrate thofe cancerous, clofe arts, 

Which caufe folution in all parts, 

And ftrike them dumb, who for meer words 

Wound thy beloved more than fwords. 

Dear Lord, do this ! and then let grace 

Defcend, and hallow all the place ; 

Incline each hard heart to do good, 

And cement us with thy Son's blood ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 217 

That like true fheep, all in one fold 
We may be fed, and one minde hold. 
Give watchful fpirits to our guides ; 
For fin, like water, hourly glides 
By each man's door, and quickly will 
Turn in, if not obflrucled ftill. 
Therefore write in their hearts thy law, 
And let thefe long, fharp judgements awe 
Their very thoughts, that by their clear 
And holy lives mercy may here 
Sit regent yet, and bleffings flow 
As fall as perfecutions now. 
So mail we know in war and peace 
Thy fervice to be our fole eafe, 
With proftrate fouls adoring Thee, 
Who turn'd our fad captivity ! 

S. Clemens apud Bajil: 

Zti ©so? not avpioq 'lntr^s Xpt<rrof, 
Kal to Tlvzvfjca to a.ywt. 



PIOUS THOUGHTS AND EJACULATIONS 

FROM A VOLUME ENTITLED 

THALIA REDIVIVA. 





PIOUS THOUGHTS AND 
EJACULATIONS. 

To his Books, 

^g^RIGHT books ! the perfpe&ives to our 
weak fights, 
The clear projections of difcerning lights, 
Burning and fhining thoughts, man's 
pofthume day, 
The track of fled fouls, and their milkie way, 
The dead alive and bufie, the ftill voice 
Of enlarged fpirits, kind Heaven's white decoys ! 
Who lives with you lives like thofe knowing flowers, 
Which in commerce with light fpend all their hours ; 
Which fhut to clouds, and fhadows nicely fhun, 
But with glad hafte unveil to kifs the Sun. 
Beneath you all is dark and a dead night, 
Which whofo lives in wants both health and fight. 

By fucking you the wife, like bees, do grow 
Healing and rich, though this they do moft flow, 
Becaufe moft choicely ; for as great a ftore 
Have we of Books as bees of herbs, or more: 
And the great tafk to try, then know, the good, 



222 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

To difcern weeds, and judge of wholefome food, 
Is a rare fcant performance. For man dyes 
Oft ere 'tis done, while the bee feeds and Ayes. 
But you were all choice flowers ; all fet and drefTed 
By old fage florifts, who well knew the belt. : 
And I amidft you all am turned a weed, 
Not wanting knowledge, but for want of heed. 
Then thank thyfelf, wild fool, that would'ft not be 
Content to know, — what was too much for thee ! 



Looking back. 

g^AIR, mining mountains of my pilgrimage, 
J*2 And flowery vales, whofe flowers were ftars ! 
C3A The days and nights of my firfl happy age, 
An age without diftafte or warrs ! • 
When I by thought afcend your funny heads, 

And mind thofe facred midnight lights 
By which I walked, when curtained rooms and beds 
Confined or fealed up others' lights ; 

O then, how bright and quick a light 
Doth brum my heart and fcatter night ! 
Charing that made, which my fins made, 
While I fo fpring, as if I could not fade. 
How brave a profpe£l is a traverfed plain, 

Where flowers and palms refrefli the eye ! 
And days well fpent like the glad Eaft remain, 

Whofe morning glories cannot dye. 





AND EJACULATIONS. 223 



The Shower. 

RATERS above ! Eternal fprings ! 

The dew that filvers the Dove's wings ! 

O welcome, welcome to the fad ! 
Give dry duft drink, drink that makes glad. 
Many fair evenings, many flowers 
Sweetened with rich and gentle fhowers, 
Have I enjoyed, and down have run 
Many a fine and fhining fun ; 
But never, till this happy hour, 
Was blefl with fuch an evening fhower ! 



Difcipline. 

AIR Prince of Life ! Light's living well! 

Who hall the keys of death and hell ; 

If the mule man defpife thy day, 
Put chains of darknefs in his way. 
Teach him how deep, how various are 
The counfels of thy love and care. 
When acts of grace and a long peace, 
Breed but rebellion, and difpleafe, 
Then give him his own way and will, 
Where lawlefs he may run, until 
His own choice hurts him, and the fling 
Of his foul fin full forrows bring. 
If Heaven and Angels, hopes and mirth, 
Pleafe not the mole {o much as earth, 
Give him his mine to dig, or dwell, 
And one fad fcheme of hideous hell. 




224. PIOUS THOUGHTS 



The Ecclipfe. 

HITHER, O whither didft thou fly ? 
When did I grieve thy holy eye ? 
^ When thou didft mourn to fee me loft, 
And all thy care and counfels croft. 
O do not grieve, where'er thou art ! 
Thy grief is an undoing fmart, 
Which doth not only pain, but break 
My heart, and makes me blufli to fpeak. 
Thy anger I could kifs, and will ; 
But O thy grief, thy grief doth kill ! 



Afflidion. 

COME, and welcome ! come, refine ! 

*r For Moors, if wafhed by thee, will fhine. 
Man blofloms at thy touch, and he, 
When thou drawft blood, is thy rofe-tree. 
Croftes make ftraight his crooked ways, 
And clouds but cool his dog-ftar days ; 
Difeafes too, when by thee blefTed, 
Are both reftoratives and reft. 

Flowers that in funfhine riot ftill, 
Dye, fcorched and faplefs. Though ftorms kill, 
The fall is fair even to defire 
Where in their fweetnefs all expire. 
O come, pour on ! what calms can be 
So fair as ftorms that appeafe thee ? 





AND EJACULATIONS. 225 

Retirement. 

RESH fields and woods ! the earth's fair 
face ! 
God's footflool and man's dwelling place ! 
I afk not why the firft believer* 
Did love to be a country liver, 
Who to fecure pious content 
Did pitch by groves and wells his tent, 
Where he might view the boundlefs fide, 
And all thofe glorious lights on high, 
With flying meteors, mills, and mowers, 
Subjected hills, trees, meads, and flowers, 
And every minute blefs the King, 
And wife Creator of each thing. 

I afk not why he did remove 
To happy Mamre's holy grove, 
Leaving the cities of the plain 
To Lot and his fuccefslefs train. 
All various lulls in cities flill 
Are found ; they are the thrones of ill ; 
The difmal finks, where blood is fpilled, 
Cages with much uncleannefs filled. 
But rural fhades are the fweet fenfe 
Of piety and innocenfe ; 
They are the meek's calm region, where 
Angels defcend and rule the fphere ; 
Where Heaven lies leaguer, and the Dove 
Duely as dew comes from above. 
If Eden be on earth at all, 
'Tis that which we the country call. 

* Abraham. 




226 PIOUS THOUGHTS 



The Revival. 



fNFOLD ! unfold ! Take in His light, 
Who makes thy cares more fhort than night. 
The joyes which with His day-liar rife 

He deals to all but drowiie eyes ; 

And, (what the men of this world mifs) 

Some drops and dews of future blifs. 

Hark ! how the winds have changed their note ! 
And with warm whifpers call thee out. 
The frofts are pall, the llorms are gone, 
And backward life at laffc comes on. 
The lofty groves in exprefs joyes 
Reply unto the turtle's voice ; 
And here in dull and dirt, O here 
The lilies of His love appear ! 



The Day-fpring. 




ARLY, while yet the dark was gay 
And gilt with liars, more trim than day, 
Heaven's Lily, and the earth's challe Rofe, 

The green immortal Branch, arofe, 

And in a folitary place 

Bowed to His Father His bleft face. 

If this calm feafon pleafed my Prince, 
Whofe fulnefs no need could evince, 
Why Ihould not I, poor filly fheep, 
His hours, as well as practice, keep ? 



AND EJACULATIONS. 227 

Not that his hand is tyed to thefe, 

From whom time holds his tranfient leafe ; 

Bat mornings new creations are, 

When men, all night faved by His care, 

Are Hill revived ; and well He may 

Expert them grateful with the day. 

So for that firft draught of His hand, 

Which finifhed Heaven, and fea, and land, 

The Sons of God their thanks did bring, 

And all the morning ftars did ling. 

Befides, as His part heretofore 

The firftlings were of all that bore, 

So now each day from all He faves 

Their foul's firfl thoughts and fruits He craves. 

This makes Him daily fhed and fhower 

His graces at this early hour ; 

Which both His care and kindnefs fhew, 

Cheering the good, quickening the flow. 

As holy friends mourn at delay, 

And think each minute an hour's Hay, 

So His divine and loving Dove 

With longing throes doth heave and move, 

And foare about us while we fleep, 

Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep, 

And fhine, but always without fail 

Before the flow fcene can unveile, 

In new companions breaks, like light, 

And morning looks, which fcatter night. 

And wilt thou let thy creature be, 

Where thou haft watched, afleep to thee? 

Why to unwelcome loathed furprizes 

Doft leave him, having left his vices ? 

Since thefe, if fufFered, may again 

Lead back the living to the flain. 



228 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

O change this fcourge ; or if as yet 
None lefs will my tranfgreffions fit, 
DilTolve, difTolve ! Death cannot do 
What I would not fubmit unto. 



The Recovery. 

^RDlS ^^ ve ^ °f our ^ a ^y ^g nt ^ whofe proud 
SigjPrti And previous glories gild that blufhing 
MM3l cloud ; 

Whofe lively fires in fwift projections glance 
From hill to hill, and by refracted chance 
Burnifh fome neighbour rock, or tree, and then 
Fly off in coy and winged flames again ; — 
If thou this day 
Hold on thy way, 
Know I have got a greater light than thine ; 
A light, whofe made and back parts thee outfhine. 

Then get thee down ; then get thee down ; 

I have a Sun now of my own. 



Thofe nicer livers, who without thy rays 
Stir not abroad, thofe may thy luftre praife; 
And wanting light, light which no wants doth know, 
To thee, weak miner, like blind Perfians bow. 
But where that Sun, which tramples on thy head, 
From his own bright eternal eye doth fhed 
One living ray, 
There thy dead day 
Is needlefs. Man is to a light made free, 
Which ihews what thou canft neither fnew nor fee ! 

Then get thee down ; then get thee down ; 

I have a Sun now of my own. 




AND EJACULATIONS. 229 

The Nativity. 

Written in the year 1656. 

;EACE ! and to all the world ! Sure One 
And He the Prince of peace, hath none ! 
He travails to be born, and then 

Is born to travail more again. 

Poor Galilee, thou can'ft not be 

The place for His nativity. 

His reitlefs mother's called away, 

And not delivered till fhe pay. 

A tax ! 'tis fo ftill, We can fee 
The church thrive in her mifery, 
And, like her Head at Bethlehem, rife, 
When fhe oppreffed with troubles lyes. 
Rife ? — Should all fall we cannot be 
In more extremities than He. 
Great type of paffions ! come what will, 
Thy grief exceeds all copies ftill. 
Thou cam'ft from heaven -to earth, that we 
Might go from earth to heaven with Thee : 
And though Thou found'ft no welcome here, 
Thou didft provide us manfions there. 
A ftable was thy court, and when 
Men turned to beafts, beafts would be men : 
They were thy courtiers ; others none ; 
And their poor manger was thy throne. 
No fwadling filks thy limbs did fold, 
Though Thou could'ft turn thy rags to gold. 
No rockers waited on thy birth, 
No cradles ftirred, nor fongs of mirth ; 



230 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

But her chafle lap and facred breafl, 
Which lodged Thee firfl, did give Thee reft. 

But flay ! what light is that doth flream 
And drop here in a gilded beam ? 
It is thy liar runs Page, and brings 
Thy tributary Eaflern Kings. 
Lord ! grant fome light to us ; that we 
May find with them the way to Thee ! 
Behold what mills eclipfe the day ! 
How dark it is ! Shed down one ray, 
To guide us out of this dark night, 
And fay once more, " Let there be light !" 



The true Chriftmas. 

O, flick up ivie and the bays, 
And then reflore the Heathen ways. 
Green will remind you of the Spring, 
Though this great day denies the thing ; 
And mortifies the earth, and all 
But your wild revels and loofe hall. 
Could you wear flowers, and rofes ilrow, 
Blufhing upon your breafl's warm fnow, 
That very drefs your lightnefs will 
Rebuke, and wither at the ill. 
The brightnefs of this day we owe 
Not unto mufic, mafque, nor fhowe ; 
Nor gallant furniture, nor plate, 
But to the manger's mean eflate. 
His life while here, as well as birth, 
Was but a check to pomp and mirth; 




AND EJACULATIONS. 231 

And all man's greatnefs you may fee 
Condemned by His humility. 

Then leave your open houfe and noife, 
To welcome him with holy joys, 
And the poor fhepherds' watchfulnefs ; 
Whom light and hymns from Heaven did blefs. 
What you abound with call abroad 
To thofe that want, and eafe your loade. 
Who empties thus will bring more in ; 
But riot is both lofs and fin. 
Drefs finely what comes not in fight, 
And then you keep your Chriftmas right ! 



The Requeft. 

;§ THOU who didfl deny to me 
E This world's adored felicity, 
And every big imperious luft, 
Which fools admire in finful dull, 
With thofe fine fubtle twills that tye 
Their bundles of foul gallantry, — 
Keep Hill my weak eyes from the mine 
Of thofe gay things which are not Thine ! 
And fhut my ears againfl the noife 
Of wicked, though applauded, joys ! 
For Thou in any land hall flore 
Of fhades and coverts for thy poor ; 
Where from the bufie dull and heat, 
As well as florms, they may retreat. 
A rock or bufh are downy beds, 
When Thou art there, crowning their heads 




232 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

With fecret blerhngs, or a tire 

Made of the Comforter's live fire. 

And when thy goodnefs in the drefs 

Of anger, will not feem to blefs, 

Yet doll Thou give them that rich rain, 

Which as it drops clears all again. 

what kind vifits daily pafs 

'Twixt Thy great Self and fuch poor grafs ! 

With what fweet looks doth Thy love mine 

On thofe low violets of Thine, 

While the tall Tulip is accurfl, 

And Crowms Imperial dye with thirft ! 

O give me Hill thofe fecret meals, 

Thofe rare repails which Thy love deals ! 

Give me that joy which none can grieve, 

And which in all griefs doth relieve. 

This is the portion Thy child begs ; 

Not that of rufl, and rags, and dregs. 

The World. 

?f AN any tell me what it is ? Can you, 
£|fe That wind your thoughts into a clue, 

To guide out others, while yourfelves flay 
And hug the fin ? [in, 

1 that fo long in it have lived, 
That, if I might, 

In truth I would not be reprieved, 

Have neither fight 

Nor fenfe that knows 

Thefe ebbs and flows ; 
But lince of all, all may be faid, 
And likelinefs doth but upbraid 




AND EJACULATIONS. 233 

And mock the truth, which ftill is loft 
In fine conceits, like ftreams in a (harp froft ; 
I will not ftrive, nor the rule break, 
Which doth give lofers leave to fpeak. 
Then falfe and foul world, and unknown 

Even to thy own, 
Here I renounce thee, and relign 
Whatever thou canft fay is thine. 

Thou art not Truth ! for he that tries 
Shall find thee all deceit and lyes. 
Thou art not Friendfhip ! for in thee 
'Tis but the bait of policie ; 
Which like a viper lodged in flowers, 
Its venom through that fweetnefs pours ; 
And when not fo, then always 'tis 
A fading paint, the fhort-lived blifs 
Of air and humour, out and in, 
Like colours in a dolphin's ikin : 
But mult not live beyond one day, 
Or for convenience, then away. 
Thou art not Riches ! for that trafh, 
Which one age hoards, the next doth waih, 
And fo feverely fweep away, 
That few remember where it lay. 
So rapid ftreams the wealthy land 
About them have at their command ; 
And fhifting channels here reftore, 
There break down, what they banked before. 
Thou art not Honour ! for thofe gay 
Feathers will wear and drop away ; 
And princes to fome upftart line 
Give new ones, that are full as fine. 



234 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Thou art not Pleafure ! For thy rofe 
Upon a thorn doth Hill repofe, 
Which, if not cropt, will quickly fhed, 
But foon as cropt grows dull and dead. 

Thou art the fand which fills one glafs, 
And then doth to another pafs ; , 

And could I put thee to a flay, 
Thou art but duft. Then go thy way, 
And leave me clean and bright, though poor ; 
Who Hops thee doth but daub his floor ; 
And, fwallow-like, when he hath done, 
To unknown dwellings mufl be gone. 

Welcome pure thoughts and peaceful hours, 
Enriched with funfhine and with mowers ! 
Welcome fair hopes and holy cares, 
The not-to-be-repented ihares 
Of time and bufinefs, the fure road 
Unto my laft and loved abode ! 

O fupreme blifs ! 
The circle, center, and abyfs 
Of bleffings, never let me mifs 
Nor leave that path, which leads to Thee, 
Who art alone all things to me ! 
I hear, I fee, all the long day 
The noife and pomp of the " broad way." 
I note their coarfe and proud approaches, 
Their filks, perfumes, and glittering coaches. 
But in the " narrow way" to Thee 
I obferve only poverty, 
And defpifed things ; and all along 
The ragged, mean, and humble throng 
Are ftill on foot ; and as they go 
They figh, and fay, their Lord went fo ! 



AND EJACULATIONS. 235 

Give me my flafF then, as it flood 
When green and growing in the wood. 
The flones, which for the altar ferved, 
Might not be fmoothed nor finely carved. 
With this poor flick I'll pafs the ford, 
As Jacob did. And Thy dear word, 
As Thou hafl dreffed it, not as wit 
And depraved tafles have poifon'd it, 
Shall in the pafTage be my meat, 
And none elfe fhall thy fervant eat. 
Thus, thus, and in no other fort, 
Will I fet forth, though laughed at for 't ; 
And leaving the wife world their way, 
Go through, though judged to go aflray. 

The Bee. 

ROM fruitful beds and flowery borders, 

Parcelled to wafleful ranks and orders, 
\ Where flate grafps more than plain truth 
needs, 
And wholefome herbs are flarved by weeds, 
To the wild woods I will be gone, 
And the coarfe meals of great Saint John. 

When truth and piety are miffed 
Both in the rulers and the priefl ; 
When pity is not cold, but dead, 
And the rich eat the poor like bread ; 
While faclious heads, with open coile 
And force, firfl make, then fhare, the fpoile ; 
To Horeb then Elias goes, 
And in the defart grows the rofe. 




236 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Haile chryftal fountaines and frefh fhades ! 

Where no proud look invades, 
No bufie worldling hunts away 
The fad retirer all the day ! 
Haile, happy, harmlefs folitude ! 
Our fancluary from the rude 
And fcornful world ; the calm recefs 
Of faith, and hope, and holinefs ! 
Here fomething frill like Eden looks ; 
Honey in woods, juleps in brooks; 
And flowers, whofe rich unrifled fweets 
With a chafle kifs the cool dew greets, 
When the toy Is of the day are done, 
And the tired world fets with the fun. 
Here flying winds, and flowing wells, 
Are the wife watchful hermit's bells ; 
Their bufie murmurs all the night 
To praife or prayer do invite, 
And with an awful found arreft, 
And pioufly employ his breaft. 

When in the eaft the dawn doth blufh, 
Here cool frefh fpirits the air brum. 
Herbs ftrait get up, flowers peep and fpread, 
Trees whifper praife, and bow the head ; 
Birds, from the fhades of night releafed, 
Look round about, then quit the neft, 
And with united gladnefs fing 
The glory of the morning's King. 
The hermit hears, and with meek voice 
Offers his own up, and their joyes : 
Then prays that all the world might be 
Bleft with as fweet an unity. 



AND 'EJACULATIONS. 237 

If fudden ftorms the day invade, 
They flock about him to the made, 
Where wifely they expect the end, 
Giving the temped time to fpend; 
And hard by fhelters on fome bough 
Hilarion's fervant, the fage crow. 

O purer years of light and grace ! 
Great is the difference, as the fpace, 
'Twixt you and us, who blindly run 
After falfe fires and leave the fun. 
Is not fair nature of herfelf 
Much richer than dull paint and pelf? 
And are not ftreams at the fpring head 
More fweet than in carved Hone or lead ? 
But fancy and fome artift's tools 
Frame a religion for fools. 

The truth, which once was plainly taught, 
With thorns and briars now is fraught. 
Some part is with bold fables fpotted, 
Some by ftrange comments wildly blotted ; 
And difcord, old corruption's creft, 
With blood and blame have ftained the reft. 
So fnow, which in its fir ft defcents 
A whitenefs like pure Heaven prefents, 
When touched by man is quickly foiled, 
And after trodden down and fpoiled. 

O lead me, where I may be free 
In truth and fpirit to ferve Thee ! 
Where undiflurbed I may converfe 
With thy great Self; and there rehearfe 
Thy gifts with thanks ; and from thy ftore, 
Who art all bleffings, beg much more. 



238 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Give me the wifdom of the bee, 

And her unwearied induftrie ! 

That from the wild gourds of thefe days, 

I may extract health, and Thy praife, 

Who canft turn darknefs into light, 

And in my weaknefs fhew Thy might. 

SufFer me not in any want 
To feek refreshment from a plant 
Thou didfl not fet ; fince all mull be 
Plucked up, whofe growth is not from Thee. 
'Tis not the garden, and the bowers, 
Nor fenfe and forms, that give to flowers 
Their wholefomenefs ; but Thy good will, 
Which truth and purenefs purchafe flill. 

Then lince corrupt man hath driven hence 
Thy kind and faving influence, 
And Balm is no more to be had 
In all the coafts of Gilead ; 
Go with me to the fhade and cell, 
Where thy belt, fervants once did dwell. 
There let me know thy will, and fee 
Exiled religion owned by Thee ; 
For Thou canft turn dark grots to halls, 
And make hills bloflbme like the vales, 
Decking their untilled heads with flowers, 
And fr'efh delights for all fad hoars ; 
Till from them, like a laden bee, 
I may fly home, and hive with Thee ! 




AND EJACULATIONS. 239 



To Chriftian Religion, 

I ARE WELL thou true and tried refection 
Of the ftill poor and meek Election ! 
Farewell, foul's joy, the quickening health 
Of fpirits, and their fureft wealth! 
Farewell, my Morning Star, the bright 
And dawning looks of the true light ! 
O blefied miner, tell me whither 
Thou wilt be gone, when night comes hither ! 
A feer that obferved thee in 
Thy courfe, and watched the growth of fin, 
Hath given his judgment, and foretold, 
That weftward hence thy courfe will hold ; 
And when the day with us is done, 
There fix and ihine a glorious fun. 
O hated fhades and darknefs ! when 
You have got here the fway again, 
And like unwholefome fogs withftood 
The light, and blafled all that's good, 
Who ihall -the happy fhepherds be, 
To watch the next nativity 
Of truth and brightnefs, and make way 
For the returning riling day ? 
O what year will bring back our blifs ? " 
Or who ihall live, when God doth this ? 

Thou Rock of ages ! and the Reft 
Of all that for Thee are oppreifed ! 
Send down the Spirit of thy truth, 
That Spirit, which the tender youth, 



240 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

And firft growths of thy fpoufe did fpread 
Through all the world from one fmall head ! 
Then if to blood we muft reflft, 
Let thy mild Dove, and our High Prieft, 
Help us, when man proves falfe, or frowns, 
To bear the crofs, and fave our crowns. 
O honour thofe that honour Thee, 
Make babes to frill the enemie, 
And teach an infant of few days 
To perfect by his death thy praife : 
Let none defile what Thou didft wed, 
Nor tear the garland from her head ! 
But chafle and cheerful let her dye, 
And precious in the Bridegroom's eye ! 
So to thy glory, and her praife, 
Thefe laft mall be her brighter!: dayes. 

Revel, chap. laft. ver. 17. 
" The Spirit and the Bride fay Come" 



Daphnis. 

An Elegiac Eclogue^ [on the death of the 
Rev'd Thomas Vaugbait.) 

The Interlocutors, Damon, Menalcas. 

Damon. 
'HAT clouds, Menalcas, do opprefs thy 
brow, 
Flowers in a funfhine never look fo low ? 
Is Nifa ft ill cold flint ? or have thy lambs 
Met with the fox by ftraying from their dams ? 




AND EJACULATIONS, 241 

Men a leas. 
Ah, Damon, no ! my lambs are fafe ; and ihe 
Is kind, and much more white than they can be. 
But what doth life when moft ferene afford 
Without a worm which gnaws her faireft gourd ? 
Our days of gladnefs are but ihort reliefs, 
Given to refer ve us for enduring griefs : 
So fmiling calms clofe tempefts breed, which break 
Like fpoilers out, and kill our flocks where weak. 
I heard lafl May, and May is ftill high fpring, 
The pleafant Philomel her vefpers fing. 
The green wood glittered with the golden fun, 
And all the weft like filver mined ; not one 
Black cloud appeared ; no rags, no fpot did ftain 
The welkin's beauty ; nothing frowned like rain. 
But ere night came that fcene of fine fights turned 
To fierce darkfhowers, the air with lightnings burned, 
The wood'° fweet fyren, rudely thus oppreffed, 
Gave to the ftorm her weak and weary breaft. 
I faw her next day on her laft cold bed : 
And Daphnis fo, juft fo is Daphnis, dead ! 

Damon. 
So violets, fo doth the primrofe, fall, 
At once the fpring's pride, and its funeral. 
Such early fweets get off ftill in their prime, 
And ftay not here to wear the foil of time ; 
While coarfer flowers, which none would mifs, if paft, 
To fcorching fummers and cold autumns laft. 

Men ale as. 
Souls need not time. The early forward things 
Are always fledged, and gladly ufe their wings. 
Or elfe great parts, when injured, quit the crowd, 



242 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

To fhine above ftill, not behind, the cloud. 
And is't not juft to leave thofe to the night 
That madly hate and perfecute the light ? 
Who, doubly dark, all negroes do exceed, 
And inwardly are true black Moores indeed ! 

Damon. 
The punifhment ftill manifefts the iin, 
As outward figns fhew die difeafe within. 
While worth opprefTed mounts to a nobler height, 
And palm-like bravely overtops the weight. 
So where fwift Ifca from our lofty hills 
With loud farewells defcends, and foaming fills 
A wider channel, like fome great port-vein 
With large rich ftreams to feed the humble plain, 
I faw an oak, whofe flately height and made, 
Projected far, a goodly fhelter made ; 
And from the top with thick difFufed boughs 
In diilant rounds grew like a wood nymph's houfe. 
Here many garlands won at roundel-lays 
Old fhepherds hung up in thofe happy days ; 
With knots and girdles, the dear fpoils and drefs 
Of fuch bright maids as did true lovers blefs. 
And many times had old Amphion made 
His beauteous flock acquainted with this fhade ; 
His flopk, whofe fleeces were as fmooth and white 
As thofe the welkin fhews in moonfhine night. 
Here, when the carelefs world did fleep, have I 
In dark records and numbers nobly high 
The vifions of our black, but brighter!: bard 
From old Amphion's mouth full often heard ; 
With all thofe plagues poor fhepherds flnce have known, 
And riddles more which future times mud own : 
While on his pipe young Hylas plaid, and made 



AND EJACULATIONS. 243 

Mufic as foleinn as the fong and fhade. 
But the curft owner from the trembling top 
To the firm brink did all thofe branches lop ; 
And in one hour what many years had bred, 
The pride and beauty of the plain, lay dead. 
The undone fwains in fad fongs mourned their lofs, 
While ftorms and cold winds did encreafe the crofs ; 
But nature, which, like virtue, fcorns to yield, 
Brought new recruits and fuccours to the field ; 
For by next fpring the checked fap waked from fleep, 
And upwards ftill to feel the fun did creep ; 
Till at thofe wounds the hated hewer made 
There fprang a thicker and a frefher fhade. 

Menalcas. 
So thrives amidted truth, and fo the light 
When put out gains a value from the night. 
How glad are we, when but one twinkling ftar 
Peeps between clouds more black than is our tar : 
And Providence was kind, that ordered this 
To the brave fufferer fhould be folid blifs : 
Nor is it fo till this fhort life be done, 
But goes hence with him, and is ftill his fun. 

Damon. 
Come, fhepherds, then, and with your greeneft 
bays 
Refrefh his duft, who loved your learned lays. 
Bring here the florid glories of the fpring, 
And, as you ftrew them, pious anthems fing ; 
Which to your children and the years to come 
May fpeak of Daphnis, and be never dumb. 
While proftrate I drop on his quiet urn 
My tears, not gifts ; and like the poor, that mourn 



244 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

With green but humble turfs, write o'er his hearfe 
For falfe foul profe-men this fair truth in verfe. 

" Here Daphnis fleeps ; and while the great watch goes 
" Of loud and reftlefs time takes his repofe. 
" Fame is but noife ; all learning is but thought, 
" Which one admires, another fets at nought : 
" Nature mocks both ; and wit Hill keeps adoe : 
cf But death brings knowledge and aflurance too." 

Men ale as. 

Call in your garlands ! flrew on all the flowers, 

Which May with fmiles or April feeds with mowers : 

Let this day's rites, as fteadfaft as the fun, 

Keep pace with time and through all ages run ; 

The public character and famous teft 

Of our long forrows and his lailing reft. 

And when we make proceffion on the plains, 

Or yearly keep the holyday of fwains, 

Let Daphnis ftill be the recorded name, 

And folemn honour of our feafts and fame. 

For though the Ills and the prouder Thames 

Can fhew his relics lodged hard by their ftreams ; 

And muft for ever to the honoured name 

Of noble Murray chiefly owe that fame : 

Yet here his ftars firft faw him, and when fate 

Beckoned him hence, it knew no other date. 

Nor will thefe vocal woods and vallies fail, 

Nor Ifca's louder ftreams, this to bewail ; 

But while fwains hope, and feafons change, will glide 

With moving murmurs becaufe Daphnis dyed. 

Damon, 
A fatal fadnefs, fuch as ftill foregoes, 
Then runs along with public plagues and woes, 



AND EJACULATIONS. 245 

Lies heavy on us ; and the very light 

Turned mourner too hath the dull looks of night. 

Our vales, like thofe of death, a darknefs fhew 

More fad than Cyprefs or the gloomy Yew. 

And on our hills, where health with height complied, 

Thick drowfy mills hang round, and there relide. 

Not one fhort parcel of the tedious year 

In its own drefs and beauty doth appear. 

Flowers hate the fpring ; and with a fullen bend 

Thruft down their heads and to the root flill tend. 

And though the Sun, like a cold lover, peeps 

A little at them, flill the day's eye fleeps. 

But when the Crab and Lion with acute 

And active fires their fluggifh heat recruit, 

Our grafs flraight ruffets, and each fcorching day 

Drinks up our brooks as fail as dew in May ; 

Till the fad herdfman with his cattel faints, 

And empty channels ring with loud complaints. 

Menalcas. 
Heaven's jufl difpleafure and our unjufl ways 
Change nature's courfe ; bring plagues, dearth, and 

decays. 
This turns our land to dull, the fkies to brafs, 
Makes old kind blemngs into curfes pafs : 
And when we learn unknown and forraign crimes 
Brings in the vengeance due unto thofe climes. 
The dregs and puddle of all ages now, 
Like rivers near their fall, on us do flow. 
Ah, happy Daphnis ! who while yet the flreams 
Ran clear and warm, though but with fetting beams, 
Got through, and faw by that declining light 
His toil's and journey's end before the night. 



24.6 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Damon. 

A night, where darknefs lays her chains and bars, 
And feral fires appear inftead of ftars, 
But he along with the lait looks of day 
Went hence, and fetting- funlike parTed away. 
What future florins our prefent fins do hatch 
Some in the dark difcern, and others watch ; 
Though forefight makes no hurricane prove mild, 
Fury that's long fermenting is moft wild. 

But fee, while thus our forrows we difcourfe, 
Phoebus hath finifhed his diurnal courfe ; 
The fhades prevail : each bufh feems bigger grown ; 
Darknefs, like ftate, makes fmall things fwell and frown : 
The hills and woods with pipes and fonnets round, 
And bleating fheep our fwains drive home, refound. 

Menalcas. 
What voice from yonder lawn tends hither? Hark! 
'Tis Thyrfis calls ! I hear Lycanthe bark ! 
His flocks left out fo late, and weary grown, 
Are to the thickets gone, and there laid down. 

Damon, 

Menalcas, hafte to look them out ! Poor fheep 
When day is done go willingly to fleep : 
And could bad man his time fpend as they do, 
He might go fleep, or die as willing too. 

Menalcas. 
Farewell ! kind Damon ! now the fhepherd's ftar 
Withteauteous looks fmiles on us though from far. 
All creatures that were favorites of day 
Are with the fun retired and gone away. 
While feral birds fend forth unpleafant notes, 



AND EJACULATIONS. 247 

And night, the nurfe of thought, Tad thoughtspromotes: 
Bat joy will yet come with the morning light, 
Though fadly now we bid good night ! 



Damon. 



Good night ! 




CH1SWICK PRESS:— C. WHITTINGFIAM, TOOKS COURT, 
CHANCERY LANE. 



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